Where It Alteration Finds
by Esmerelda
Summary: Buffy is having Slayer dreams which give her clues to her life as... well, Buffy.
1. Prologue

TITLE: Where It Alteration Finds  
AUTHOR: Esmerelda  
E-MAIL: animus_liber@hotmail.com  
DISCLAIMER: Buffy and Angel (and everyone else, but I don't really want them. Well, maybe Spike) belong to Joss. Just one of life's mysterious quirks. I've adapted the fateline idea from Dianna Wynne Jones' 'Deep Secret', which by the way is a fabulous book and you should all read it (think that'll stop me getting sued?)  
TIMELINE: Up to 'No Place Like Home' and 'Dear Boy', but without season arc developments - no Dawn, no Glory, no headaches for Joyce, no Darla, but with the magic shop, Riley's wild insecurity etc. Buffy is living in dorms with Willow.  
SPOILERS: Consider anything up to and including season 5 to be fair game.  
SYNOPSIS: Buffy is having dreams about a previous Slayer which give her clues to her life as this one.  
CONTENT: Angst, fluffy bits (later), B/A (can I do anything else?)... but you have to get through the B/R first. Sorry, but it must be dealt with.  
DISTRIBUTION: Just ask!  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was based on spoilers (which have actually been and gone) that Buffy would be having dreams about former Slayers. BTW - I'm not a DB/SMG 'shipper, but neither are those names coincidence; I'm just bad at thinking of them for myself.  
FEEDBACK: The amount I write is directly proportional to the amount of feedback I get ;).  
RATING: PG-15 overall.  
  
  
  
'Love is not love which alters where it alteration finds.'  
Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare  
  
  
PROLOGUE  
  
She whirled and punched hard, frustrated with her long dress. The vampire, face contorted into the grotesque features of its kind, snarled and pulled back. She stood poised, ready for attack, between the demon and the lively party going on scant yards behind her. She caught the telltale flinch in its chest a moment before it rushed her and moved fluidly aside, again cursing the limitations of her outfit. Yet more ruined party clothes to explain.  
  
A quick rush of air she wasn't expecting, a swift shove, and she was flat on the floor. She cursed inwardly; mistakes like that were unforgivable, for a Slayer.  
  
And very possibly fatal. She couldn't flip up, again hampered by her heavy dress. Instead, she rolled with the motion, ending on her back, knees drawn up protectively.  
  
The vamp was on her before she could reach for the stake at her waist. She fought back fear as it leaned over her, fangs bared and glinting as it grinned with triumph. Its fetid breath washed over her face and she nearly retched, easily recognising the tang of stale blood. This vampire had fed tonight, and fed well.  
  
The reminder of who she was, and what she fought for, caused her adrenaline to spike immediately, and she prepared for a heave to push it off so she could roll up and over it to plunge the stake into its back.  
  
It seemed to read her mind and shifted its weight, pinning her more strongly, its grin widening with glee. She struggled desperately, uselessly, fighting down the terror that threatened to overtake her. If she died tonight, at the fangs of this vampire, she would not give it the pleasure of the sweet taste of fear in her blood.  
  
It was hard, though, her entire body rebelling against the vampire sprawled across her. It grabbed her hair and pulled her head back roughly, exposing her throat. She grimly choked back a sob and shut her eyes, preparing for the sensation of sharp fangs viciously tearing her throat ...  
  
... And then the weight was gone and a fine shimmer of ash fell across her face. She peered up, her mind foggy with confusion, then slowly clearing with understanding as she recognised the concerned face gazing back at her.  
  
Her lover. Covering her back, as always.  
  
He reached down and she allowed him to pull her up and into his warm embrace. He just barely pulled away, far enough to check her over for obvious injuries. Finding none, he tipped her face up to his, subtly checking for a concussion as he teased, "Nothing injured but your pride, then, Sarah?"  
  
"Nothing but, David," she returned smartly, allowing him to see the clear thoughts and unclouded mind behind her hazel eyes. He smiled in answer, then leaned down, brushing his lips over hers softly, keeping the kiss light though she pressed herself into him in silent entreaty.  
  
She withdrew to a proper distance. He gave a fleeting, slightly regretful smile, then a deep bow. He straightened and presented his arm.  
  
"My lady," he said in a deep, soft voice.  
  
She smiled, and reached to take his offered arm. "My lord," she replied demurely. They shared another secret smile, then re-entered the ball.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy's eyes shot open as she came abruptly out of her dream. She rolled away from Riley, grabbing the phone up from by her bed. She was well past the area code for LA before she realised what she was doing; who she was calling. She held the phone for a moment, wondering, then deliberately replaced it into the cradle.  
  
She lay back down slowly, almost fearfully. It took her a long time to get back to sleep.  



	2. Part 1

Buffy threw her bag onto the cash desk and tried to peer into the training room in the back.  
  
"Shop!" she cried noisily after a few moments, when it became clear that no-one was going to come out.  
  
"Coming!" she heard Anya reply from somewhere, "I'll just be a ... oh. It's you." Entering quickly and spotting no customers, she eyed Buffy slightly disapprovingly.  
  
"Nice to see you too, Anya," Buffy said with false cheer, "should you be leaving this place wide open?"  
  
"Oh, it's fine," the other woman said dispassionately.  
  
"Cause it's not your stock?" Buffy asked dryly, picking her bag up again and heading out back.  
  
"Cause we cursed it all so bad stuff happens if it's robbed," she said matter-of-factly.  
  
Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Does Giles know?"  
  
"It was his idea," Anya answered, moving to the till, "he's buried in his books, as I assume you're not here to girl talk with me."  
  
"You don't do girl talk, Anya. Thanks," Buffy threw over her shoulder as she resumed her path into the training room. She slowed slightly as she entered to run an appreciative eye over the room again; it had been an unexpected, but welcome, surprise.  
  
She saw Giles huddled in a corner, absorbed in the dusty tome he was inspecting.  
  
"Another dream," she said by way of greeting, "Sarah again, really vivid, slaying at some upscale party. Better taste than she's showed before."  
  
"Excuse me?" he said slightly bemused, looking up at her and pushing his glasses up in the familiar gesture.  
  
"Clothes," she elaborated, "and guys. Same one as in the last two, but he looked ... better. Little older, maybe. And his fighting had improved."  
  
"He was helping her hunt this time?" Giles said, his interest piqued.  
  
"Pretty much saved her sixteenth century ass," Buffy said, hopping onto the table.  
  
"That is odd," Giles muttered, "very few Slayers have used any kind of outside help - I was quite sure you were the first." He reached eagerly past Buffy to grab another book. She sat and waited patiently. Kind of patiently.  
  
"I think I've located one of the other Slayers you dreamt of," he went on distractedly. He indicated another open book and Buffy picked it up, examining the portrait of a pretty redheaded girl with clear green eyes and a challenging smile. He continued, "Her name was Helene, she was called in Paris in 1738 and was quite a successful Slayer by all accounts. She lived two years, killed a high number of vampires, and gained quite a reputation throughout the vampire community ..." he noticed Buffy idly flicking through the pages of the book and finished sharply, "and always paid the utmost attention to her Watcher."  
  
"What?" Buffy enquired, looking up at him innocently.  
  
"Never mind," he said, observing the slight dullness of her usually sparkling eyes and, more tellingly, the purple smudges beneath them. "This is the seventh dream in ..."  
  
"Seven nights, yeah," she said, sighing heavily. "I've never been little miss lay-in-bed, but this ... it's not exactly conducive to a restful night."  
  
"Perhaps you could lay off slaying for a couple of nights," Giles said delicately, unsure as to how his suggestion would be received. "Just until you're feeling better."  
  
"No," she said immediately. "I'm fine. I want to hunt."  
  
"If you're sure," he said, watching her with renewed concern, "I'm sure Spike can be persuaded to be out there, if it's the public you're worried about."  
  
"I said, no," she repeated firmly. "Anyway, there's no guarantee I'm going to feel better. Dreams like this might be part and parcel of being a ... really old Slayer."  
  
He didn't answer.  
  
"How old am I?" she asked hesitantly; she had always avoided the subject before. "For a Slayer?"  
  
"There have been older," he said obliquely.  
  
"How old?" she said, louder.  
  
"Most Slayers don't live to their mid-twenties," he admitted slowly. "A significant number haven't survived to their twenties. You were called fairly early, you've done," now he sighed, reluctant to continue, "much better than most."  
  
"So I could still have a good few years left," she said, cheered slightly.  
  
But only slightly.  
  
"Longer," Giles said fervently.  
  
"I hope so," she said, "but ..." their eyes met, and he regretted the events that had caused them to show an age much older than she could claim, "but I'm prepared if it's not."  
  
What could he say?  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Hey," Riley said over the pumping dance music, looking around the door. Seeing Buffy working out vigorously in the centre of the room, he stopped in the doorway for a moment, watching her fluid, sure moves as she punched and kicked with what he knew was disturbing strength and accuracy.  
  
She didn't seem to hear him, caught up as she was in training; grinning to himself, he walked over to where she was whirling on the mats. Timing himself precisely, he reached out and grabbed her around the waist.  
  
Buffy felt the touch and instantly spun on the intruder, grabbing its throat in a vice-like grip and throwing it to the floor with her full weight, following it down a split-second later to straddle its chest and pin it in an inescapable hold. She flipped several strands of damp blonde hair out of her eyes and looked down to see - her boyfriend.  
  
"Oh God!" she said in shock, immediately letting go, but remaining in the same position, "I am so ... are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine," he reassured her, trying to hide his wince. "Just struggling to breathe."  
  
At his words she moved to get off him, but he grabbed her hips and pulled her back down, saying with a suggestive smile, "I didn't say I minded."  
  
She laughed uncomfortably and twisted out of his hands, rising easily and holding out a hand for him to do the same. He took it, and she pulled him up to a standing position with little effort.  
  
"Sorry about that," she said in embarrassment, "maybe it's better if you don't interrupt me when I'm training."  
  
"Oh, after that I won't," he assured her, grinning.  
  
"Okay," she said, walking to the edge of the room to get a towel and water. She took a long swig, welcoming the refreshing coolness.  
  
"You up for meeting Willow and Tara at the Bronze tonight?" Riley asked, following her over.  
  
"Sure," she said, smiling. Then a slight shadow came over her face and she said, "Um, but I'm going to sleep at home tonight, Riley."  
  
"Oh. Okay," he said, moving to take her in his arms, "not quite as much privacy as my place, but if you want to ..."  
  
"No," she said, cutting him off, "me. I'm going to."  
  
"Oh," he said. "Huh."  
  
"It's not anything," she hurried to soothe, "It's just - you know I haven't been sleeping well, and I don't want to disturb you as well."  
  
His face brightened and he said, "That's it? I don't mind that, Buffy."  
  
"I do," she said. "You need your rest." Her gaze flicked involuntarily to his chest, where his heart beat at a regular rhythm.  
  
"Right," he said, knowing her reasons, trying to brush it off anyway. "No problem. I'll pick you up later"  
  
He walked out of the room without looking back.  
  
"Riley. Riley!" she called helplessly. She looked after him for a few moments, biting her lip, then started to get dressed.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Sarah groaned and rolled over as a fine shaft of light hit her eyes. She reached over sleepily to bring the heavy blankets over her and gasped when her arm hit an unfamiliar body. The unfamiliar body mumbled in annoyance and pulled her smoothly against his expansive chest, curling around her with a possessive arm heavy over her waist.  
  
She came fully awake with an unwelcome realisation.  
  
"David! You have to go!" she shrieked, as quietly as possible.  
  
She felt his sigh on the back of her neck, exchanged a moment later for gentle nips on the nape of her neck. She gasped despite herself, arching into him, then remembered her Watcher in the next room. The flare of desire immediately abated and she tried to push him off.  
  
"David, please! Oliver could come in at any moment!"  
  
"He won't," he said, his voice muffled in her thick brown hair.  
  
She dragged herself away from him.  
  
"He could," she scolded, then felt herself being teased from her worry as he smiled at her devilishly.   
  
But she still evaded him when he sought her again.  
  
"No," she said with much dignity, wrapping a blanket around herself as she stepped from the bed gracefully. "You have to get dressed and go."  
  
"With such temptation so close?" he said pleadingly, gazing up at her with chocolate eyes.  
  
She felt her heart melt, but stood resolute.  
  
"I cannot be caught with a man in my room, David. No more than you can be caught here."  
  
"No-one will catch us," he whispered, favouring her with a devastating smile.  
  
No matter; two could play at that. She directed a dazzling smile back at him.  
  
"They could," she said, then relented, climbing back onto the bed and moving sinuously over to his kneeling form. She embraced him, hands tangling in his blond hair. Unusual colouring, her David. There were whispers about him, about his mother, in the village; but no more than about her and her supposed guardian.  
  
She banished the thoughts and they kissed, first sweetly, then more fiercely.  
  
"I love you," he murmured, and where he would then have acceded to her earlier request and got up, she held him down with her Slayer's strength, pushing him into the rumpled bedclothes.  
  
"I love you," she said back, the smile returning, then followed him down, the blanket falling forgotten at the side of the bed as they joined again.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy woke languorously, rested and at peace, stretching luxuriously before reaching for her lover. Not finding him, she growled lightly, then, still in a sleepy haze, picked up the phone and dialled from memory.  
  
"The number you dialled has not been recognised," a perky, mechanical voice informed her, "the number you dialled has not been recognised."  
  
Buffy flopped back, annoyed, running over the number automatically. She was sure she had it right ...  
  
Buffy remembered who owned the deep brown eyes she'd been trying to call just seconds before she recalled the dream they'd just featured in.  
  
* * * * *  



	3. Part 2

"Are you okay?" Willow said when she entered their dorm room, having spent the night at Tara's. She looked at her best friend, seeing the pristine outfit, carefully styled hair, and touch of makeup - but also the distracted staring into space and fidgeting.  
  
"Oh," she said then, partly answering herself, "did you sleep any better?"  
  
"I had another dream, if that's what you mean," Buffy said, "but it was ... a pretty good one."  
  
"A Slayer one?" Willow checked.  
  
"Yeah," Buffy told her. "A Slayer one."  
  
Willow waited to see if any more information would be forthcoming, but it soon became apparent it wouldn't be. She busied herself with getting books for her classes that day.  
  
"Will," she heard, quietly, a few minutes later, "do you know if anything's ... happened ... to, um, Angel lately?"  
  
"I don't think so," Willow replied, frowning in thought. "I mean, Cordelia called when she was decrypting that disk, but that was months ago." She flashed a piercing glance at Buffy, using her witch's eye to see the muddy gold, grey-tinged aura. "How lately are we talking?"  
  
"I don't know," Buffy admitted, coming to sit on Willow's bed. "A guy in the dream reminded me of him, and I woke up and I was still half asleep and I tried to call, and I got one of those 'your number has not been recognised' recordings."  
  
"Hang on, hang on," Willow said. "A guy in the dream reminded you of Angel?"  
  
"Yeah," Buffy said, "do you think that's weird?"  
  
"I don't know," Willow said slowly. "Do you think it was prophetic?"  
  
"Oh, no," Buffy said, "it was definitely an in-the-past dream. And it wasn't even Angel. It just reminded me of him."  
  
"I would advise asking Giles," Willow said. "He's the expert."  
  
"Yeah," Buffy said, giving her a weak smile, "I guess."  
  
Buffy stood up with sudden energy. "In fact, I'm going to go and do it now. Ask Giles." She turned smartly and headed for the door, opening it and heading out.  
  
"Buffy!" Willow called after her.  
  
The door reopened and Buffy came back in, grabbing the bag on her bed.  
  
"Just as soon as I've been to class," she amended sheepishly.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Anything new?" Buffy said cheerfully, walking straight into Giles' apartment.  
  
"Well, your sixteenth century Slayer is not in actual fact a sixteenth century Slayer," he informed her from the kitchen. "None of the records from that time match a girl fitting the description you gave me."  
  
"I told you sixteenth century was a guess," she reminded him.  
  
"I know," he said, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose, "I'm going to start on seventeenth century tonight."  
  
"Fine, fine," Buffy said, sitting on the couch and leaning her head back against it, closing her eyes gratefully.  
  
Giles came into the living room and observed his resting charge for a silent moment.  
  
"Any more dreams to report?" he said quietly, trying not to disturb her too much.  
  
"Yeah," Buffy said, "and I'm going to spare your blushes and only say that Sarah was definitely with this David guy. Like, with in a biblical sense."  
  
"Thank you for your concern over my feelings," he said dryly, "though unfortunately it's not terribly helpful to me."  
  
"Sorry," Buffy said, grinning. "I don't think there was anything ... oh, oh! Wait, there was," she gestured wildly, trying to think, scrunching up her face with dramatic effort. "Her Watcher was named, oh, erm, Oliver. I don't know if it was first name or second."  
  
"Oliver," Giles said slowly, turning the new information over, "A Watcher named Oliver with a Slayer called Sarah, British accents ... yes, that could be very helpful."  
  
He went over to his well-stocked bookshelf, scanning the titles. Not finding what he wanted, he tutted with impatience and disappeared upstairs, coming back empty-handed.  
  
"I believe the book I need is at the shop," he began apologetically, "I can go and ..."  
  
"Okay," Buffy said, "I'll come with you. Any chance to ride in the speed machine."  
  
"Don't mock, Buffy," Giles chided gently, holding the door open for her.   
  
As Buffy pulled on her coat, a stake clattered from her pocket to the floor. Buffy stared at it for a moment, and then turned to Giles as he locked the door, asking tentatively, "Have you heard from Angel at all lately? Or Wesley?"  
  
Giles didn't answer for a moment, finishing with the door, then turned to her and said, "Angel called a couple of months ago, yes. Apparently his office building was burnt down by a demon they were chasing. In fact, Wesley called a couple of weeks ago with a new permanent address. Why do you ask?"  
  
Buffy hesitated for a moment, "A couple of times now, I've woken up from a dream, and started to call him. This morning I did, and I couldn't get through. Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"You've started to call him?" Giles asked with concern.  
  
"Yeah," she admitted, leading him out of the courtyard. "Why didn't you tell me about his office?"  
  
"We were dealing with the First Slayer at the time, I didn't want to disturb you with it," he said impatiently.  
  
"Disturb me?" she said loudly. "He gets in enough danger to get his office blown up, and you don't want to disturb me?"  
  
"I thought it was best," Giles replied equally loudly, "now why did you call him?"  
  
Buffy looked at him sharply, then looked down again, shutting her eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry. It's the guy," she told him, "David? He reminds me of Angel. Like, big time."  
  
"He looks like Angel?" Giles enquired.  
  
"No," she said. "Well, actually, there's something in the eyes, but," she exhaled hard, "no. It's just ... I can't explain it. He just has sort of an Angel-quality to him."  
  
"And you feel an affinity for the character of Sarah," Giles said, choosing his words carefully.  
  
"Yeah," Buffy said, "It's like I'm -" his words registered. "The character of Sarah? She's not a character, Giles. She's a person. She's a real person whose life I'm dreaming about."  
  
"Are you sure?" he said gently. "You and Angel had a deep connection, and it's not something you seemed to deal with much after he ..."  
  
"Left me?" she said harshly. "I didn't want to spend another summer grieving over me and Angel, Giles. This isn't some fantasy I've come up with to deal with repressed Angel issues, which by the way I don't have. It's her *life*."  
  
"Okay," Giles said simply, catching her gaze. She nodded, satisfied, and they got into the car.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Sarah wandered the graveyard, noting the streaks of red beginning to show in the east. She'd been hunting all night; the vampires had been plentiful, though she fancied they had seemed almost grateful to meet her stake. She dismissed the thought. Vampires, especially those who had just begun eternal life, were never pleased to be dusted before even a first meal.  
  
"Time to go home," she muttered to herself, happy with the night's hunt.  
  
She realised she'd jinxed herself when she heard a deep growl behind her.  
  
Resigned, she readied a stake and turned to the vampire.  
  
Which wasn't a vampire, but rather a tall, blueish demon with a roughened complexion and powerful-looking arms which grasped a sharp, gleaming sword.   
  
Before she had a chance to consider it, it roared a challenge and attacked her.  
  
Positive her stake wouldn't even scratch the creature, Sarah nimbly avoided its first swing, trying desperately to come up with a battle strategy, but finding herself too occupied with staying alive second to second to be able to plan ahead. It was skilled with its weapon, and she had to dodge its accurate thrusts, soon becoming tired.  
  
Recognising the dangerous weariness, she knocked aside the sword and was inside its reach in a quick movement. Clasping her hands together in a fist, she swung upwards in an uppercut intended to break its neck, and if not, at least stun it.  
  
She never knew how it evaded her; but evade her it did. Her punch connected with nothing but its sword, but the movement saved her as the blow meant to kill her only sliced a long gash down her right arm.  
  
Sarah pulled away from the fight and took off running. The demon did not follow her.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy woke up and automatically reached for her arm. Her fingers connected with smooth skin; no cut, and no scar, but still she had to click the light on and bring her hand up to her face to reassure herself that no blood stained it.  
  
Riley grumbled lightly and shut his eyes against the light. "Are you okay?"  
  
"I had another dream," she said, "see? I'm bad for your sleep patterns."  
  
"It doesn't matter. Want to talk about it?" he offered, cuddling her to him.  
  
She pulled out of his arms, "No, it's okay. Go back to sleep."  
  
Riley watched regretfully as she grabbed her robe and headed out of her room.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Giles?" Buffy said quietly. She was answered by a deep yawn down the phone line.  
  
"Giles!" she snapped, a little more loudly. "Another nocturnal commission to report. I think it was important."  
  
"Go on," he replied, pinching the bridge of his nose in his apartment. He checked the cup of tea at his elbow; cold, and no doubt had been since soon after he'd fallen asleep, surrounded by the books he was using to find the mysterious Sarah. He was still dubious as to whether she had ever existed; but as long as it was important to Buffy that he keep looking, he would do so until he could prove conclusively either way.  
  
"She was fighting a demon, it was tall, had a blue tinge, carried a sword, didn't talk, really good fighter ..."  
  
"Hang on," he stopped her, scrabbling for a pen. He wrote down what she had said so far.  
  
"What else?"  
  
"It let her go," Buffy said, "nearly killed her and then just let her go. It was wearing some kind of armour." She closed her eyes, trying to recapture the vivid images of her dream. "No, scrap that. Its top half was armoured. It was the skin. It was familiar." She bit her lip in thought, now trying to run over her extensive mental demon most-wanted gallery. Or, generally, most-dead.  
  
She was hit by a vision of Angel, and tried to banish it, assuming her dream had her thinking of David, and from there the souled vampire. But it kept reinstating itself insistently, and she suddenly remembered - a morning, nearly a year ago, when she had gone to try and reclaim her heart and ended up only losing it further.   
  
"It reminded me of a bigger, uglier Mohra demon," she said slowly.  
  
"What? When did you come across a Mohra?" Giles said in surprise.  
  
"When I went to see Angel after Thanksgiving," she said, "one attacked. It wasn't too important, he killed it really fast. But that was what this reminded me of. It didn't have the jewel thing in its head, though."  
  
"Right," Giles said, and she could faintly hear him rustling about with his books. "Sarah, Oliver, Mohra look-a-like. I'll try and have something for you tomorrow."  
  
"Thanks," Buffy said, "but remember to sleep, okay?"  
  
He chuckled, "Yes, I will," he said, "thank you, Buffy."  
  
"Bye."  
  
"Goodbye."  
  
Buffy put the phone down and looked up at the ceiling. Telling herself she was only concerned for Riley's health, she grabbed a throw and, lying on the couch, pulled it over herself. She fell asleep quickly.  
  
* * * * *  



	4. Part 3

"Anya," Giles called through to the front of the shop, "are we busy?"  
  
"Not really, why?" she shouted back, her voice muffled in the velvet cloth she was arranging on a display table.  
  
He came and stood in the doorway between the shop floor and back, watching her build the display with a critical eye.  
  
"Put the crystal balls behind the Oflagean box," he directed.  
  
"No. I'm a girl. I do things like displays," she said impatiently, nudging the crystal balls to show off the box behind them a little better. "Is that all you wanted?"  
  
"Oh, no," he said, hefting the book he carried. He brought it over to her and flipped to a picture, showing her the demon it depicted. "Do you recognise this? There's a picture but no name or information."  
  
She took the book away from him and looked at the picture, thinking for a moment.  
  
"It's a Desuin demon."  
  
"Desuin?" Giles said, faintly recognising the name.  
  
"Yeah," Anya said, quickly growing bored, "big as assassins back around the middle of the millennium. Not so many around now. Or, possibly any."  
  
"Assassins," Giles muttered, "thank you." He returned to the back. Anya watched him bump into the cash desk on his way out.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy wandered into her dormroom and headed over to her closet, selecting a blue sweat top and matching pants to train in.  
  
"Did you get the message?" Willow said, coming in behind her.  
  
Buffy looked over her shoulder, noting for the first time the blinking red light on the answering machine. "Feel free," she said, scrutinising the top for marks.  
  
Willow pressed play and the message ran back.  
  
"Hello, Buffy, it's Giles. I believe I've found Sarah, if you want to come to the shop."  
  
Buffy slowed in her actions and looked at the machine, suddenly wondering if she really wanted to know the details of this girl's life. Or, more specifically, her death.  
  
"Want me to come with?" Willow offered.  
  
Buffy smiled at the redhead gratefully, "Yeah. Thanks."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Sarah Madison," Giles said, placing a volume of the Watcher's Diaries in front of them. "Called in England in 1675. Her Watcher was named Catherine Jacobson."  
  
"But, the dream," Buffy started.  
  
"Her married name," Giles said, overriding her, "Catherine's husband was one Oliver Jacobson."  
  
"Anything on David?" Buffy said, pacified.  
  
Giles cleared his throat. "There is only one mention in what I've read. It would appear that Catherine was not aware of Sarah's... ah... relationship with him."  
  
"So what was the mention?" Buffy asked.  
  
Giles sat down, "Catherine writes of Sarah's brush with a Desuin demon, a type of supernatural assassin. I believe that is what you dreamt last night. Three nights later, she makes a brief note that Sarah has been killed, and that there is no immediately obvious cause of death."  
  
"A brief note?" Willow said, upset, "her Slayer dies and she writes a brief note?"  
  
"From the records, Sarah's death affected Mrs. Jacobson quite strongly," Giles said stiffly. "She seems at the time of writing to be in a state of shock."  
  
"Oh," Willow said quietly.  
  
"She writes a week later that a young man from a neighbouring village was found dead, in very similar circumstances. His name was David Baker."  
  
"He went after the Desuin alone?" Willow said, reaching for the diary.  
  
"It seems so," Giles said.  
  
"You know, I've gotta go," Buffy said suddenly, pushing her chair back with a squeak and scrabbling for her jacket.  
  
"Buffy ..." Willow said.  
  
"I'm fine," Buffy assured her with a false smile, "just want to be somewhere - away."  
  
With that, she ran out of the room. A moment later, they heard the shop door slam.  
  
Giles sighed and drummed his fingers on the table.  
  
"I think she'd gotten kind of attached to them," Willow said sadly, flipping over a couple of pages of the Watcher's Diary.  
  
"It's often difficult for a Slayer to hear about the deaths of the others," Giles said blankly.  
  
"I can't say I love it," Willow said softly.  
  
"No," Giles agreed equally softly, "neither do I."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy lay in her bed, cuddling the duvet to herself. She hoped she wouldn't dream tonight.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Buffy! Buffy!" Buffy rolled over blearily, squinting up at her roomate.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You've got to get up," Willow insisted, stripping the covers off her. Buffy yelped and grabbed for them fruitlessly.  
  
"Fine," she grumbled, swinging her legs over the bed and standing up smoothly.  
  
"Did you dream?" Willow asked hesitantly.  
  
"No," Buffy said, stopping just by the door. "I'm not sure whether I'm glad about that or not."  
  
"I read some of that diary yesterday," Willow ventured.  
  
"And?" Buffy asked, curious.  
  
"Sarah was a little rebellious, but a good Slayer," Willow said, "she was pretty smart, listened to her Watcher most of the time, was liked in her village. And she wrote to her mom and dad and visited them... a lot of Slayers don't do that, you know."  
  
"Well, I guess family must have been important to her," Buffy said, focusing her gaze on the doorknob, then going out the door.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Riley darted through the graveyard, hoping to find Buffy; though the sun wasn't quite down, she sometimes began patrol early. He knew she wasn't entirely happy with him hunting, but he figured by the time he got to her, she wouldn't pursue it - and he was help, even without the Initiative behind him. His hand moved reflexively to his chest, and he grimaced.  
  
He heard a soft sound, and spun around to face the direction he thought it had come from.  
  
"Buffy?" he said, peering through the trees.  
  
The only response he got was a large demon crashing through the forest, belying what he assumed was its former almost-silent approach. It towered inches over him as it slowed some distance away, and Riley groped for a knife, keeping a wary eye on it.  
  
It seemed to be eyeing him back. Then it came to some sort of decision and leapt forward. Riley tried to maneuver away from it, but it corrected itself, apparently effortlessly, and followed him around, punching him powerfully.  
  
Riley grunted and let the punch throw him down, rolling and getting up again. He and the creature circled each other.  
  
Riley saw the gleaming sword moments before it whistled down. He dropped desperately to the side, moments away from being cleaved in two from head to torso.  
  
Realising he was outmatched, he scrambled up and took off in the direction of the magic shop.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Riley burst into the shop and swung immediately around to the window, looking intently out of the glass, sweeping his gaze around slowly.  
  
"You know, most people window-shop from the other side of the glass," Anya remarked idly, watching his strange behaviour.  
  
"I might have been followed by a demon," he said quickly, still scanning.  
  
"And you led it here?!" Anya said in dismay.  
  
"Closest place," he returned.  
  
"Well, if it breaks anything, you're buying," she warned seriously.  
  
"It's okay, I don't think it followed me," Riley reported, coming away from the window.  
  
"Good," Anya said. Riley came over and leaned on the cash desk where she was working. "Was there something else?" she enquired.  
  
"Is Buffy here?" he said.  
  
"No," Anya said flatly. "Now go away, I'm busy."  
  
"Thanks, Anya," Riley said, amused.  
  
He checked the back anyway, and saw Willow sitting poring over a book.  
  
"Hey, Willow," he said, entering.  
  
She looked up, "Hi, Riley."  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked, going over to her.  
  
She held up the book she was reading for his perusal. "This is the diary of the Watcher of one of the Slayers that Buffy's been dreaming about." She grinned, "If you made any kind of sense of that."  
  
"Buffy's been dreaming about other Slayers?" he asked.  
  
"Well, yeah," she said, "you didn't know?"  
  
"I knew she was having bad dreams," he defended himself, "she just didn't tell me what they were of exactly." He debated with himself for a moment, then asked, "Is that the only reason she's been avoiding me?"  
  
"She's been avoiding you?" Willow echoed questioningly.  
  
"She's okay during the day," he said, "and then ... she's reluctant to share a bed with me."  
  
Willow blushed.  
  
"Sorry," he said, grinning.  
  
"It's okay," she said. "I'm sure it's just the dreams, Riley. She doesn't want to disturb your sleeping."  
  
"But it's okay to wake you up in the dorm?" he asked, only half-joking.  
  
She gave him a half-smile, and he got up.  
  
Seeing a slight stiffness, she said, "Are you okay?"  
  
"Oh, yeah," he said, "I got jumped by a demon."  
  
"What kind of demon?" she asked with concern, getting up and going over to the books.  
  
He followed, "Big, blueish, sword, scary."  
  
He wasn't prepared for the intensity of her reaction. She whipped her head around to look at him, than started to purposefully sift through the books littering the desk. She found one, with a small sound of triumph, and opened it, flicking through the pages until she found what she wanted. She showed him a painting, "Is this it?"  
  
"Yeah, that's it," he said cheerfully, "what is it?"  
  
She stared at the page with a look he couldn't interpret.  
  
"It's a Desuin demon."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Do you think it's *the* Desuin demon?" Buffy asked Willow.  
  
"I don't know, Buffy," she replied, shrugging. "It'd be an awfully big coincidence, what with you having the dreams now, and then it turning up ..."  
  
"And I don't believe in coincidence," Buffy reminded her glumly.  
  
"I do," Giles said, sitting down across from them with a book in hand. He leaned over and fixed Buffy with a keen stare, "But I don't believe that this is a coincidence."  
  
"Explain," she said slowly, not liking his manner.  
  
He opened the book at an appropriate page and began to read, tonelessly: "The one that was assassinated shall be Chosen again; and chosen again by the same that brought her down once. The Relentless One shall come after the gift, and that sight shall show them the fate of the first and of the second - same ends for those tempered of the same and loving the same, and yet the millennial stars are between them."  
  
He cleared his throat. "There is a little more, but that, I feel, is the significant portion."  
  
"Signifying ... what?" Buffy wanted to know.  
  
He swallowed, and his eyes met hers.  
  
"From the wording, it would appear to," he took a deep breath, "foresee your death, Buffy."  



	5. Part 4

"Oh," Buffy said quietly, slumping back into Giles' couch.  
  
"Why should it be Buffy?" Willow said anxiously, gesturing for the book. Giles relinquished it and Willow read the extract for herself.  
  
"Most telling is the millennial stars," Giles said heavily, "meaning that the Slayer it refers to is around during the millennium. The one that was assassinated refers to Sarah, as Desuin are assassins. That same Desuin, the Relentless one, will come after what I believe is the reincarnation of Sarah, as they are tempered the same. The gift is the sight, and that is the dreams that Buffy has been experiencing."  
  
"You've really thought about this," Willow said.  
  
"I wouldn't even have brought up the possibility if I wasn't fairly sure I was right, Willow," Giles said a little more sharply than he had intended.  
  
"And you think I'm Sarah's reincarnation," Buffy said distantly.  
  
"I believe so," he replied gently, focusing with concern on his Slayer.  
  
"So that's what I have to look forward to," she said with a bark of harsh laughter, "more of the same. No eternal rest, no heaven, not even just some blessed nothingness. I just fight until I die, and then I come back and fight until I die again."  
  
"Buffy," Willow said in distress, reaching for her friend. Buffy evaded her hand, jumping up and walking over to the window quickly. She stared out without seeing anything, her fingers reaching for her necklace and beginning to twist it agitatedly. Somehow, the action calmed her, let her think through the haze her mind was enveloped in. She glanced down at the chain, and the silver cross that hung from it.  
  
Oh. It was that necklace. That necklace had got her through many an encounter with an angry vamp ... including the Master's Luke.  
  
"I've beaten prophecies before," she said, turning to fix Giles with a steady eye. She was pleased that her voice did not waver.  
  
"Technically, you didn't beat the prophecy about the Master," he said lowly, "as you did die."  
  
"But I got around it," she said sternly. "And I'll get around this one."  
  
Giles closed his eyes painfully. "Buffy, I want more than anything for that to happen," he began haltingly, "but ..."  
  
"It said the same end for me and Sarah," Buffy interrupted. "That means if I find out how she died, I've got more of a chance of stopping it from happening to me."  
  
"That's as may be," Giles said, "but we have no way of assuming that dreams will continue, and -"  
  
"Giles," Buffy said, effectively stopping him once again. "Do they teach you hypnosis in Watcher school?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
"It may be that nothing comes of this, Buffy," Giles warned, making sure she was settled comfortably on his worn couch. "Hypnotising Slayers has been tried only a couple of times before, by men with more skill and experience than I possess."  
  
She gave him a sweet smile, "I trust you, Giles."  
  
There was a knock on the door, then it opened and Xander peered around the door, entering moments later.  
  
"I've brought the pig," he said, holding Mr Gordo up in the air. "Someone want to tell me why I've brought the pig?"  
  
"Just give me the pig," Buffy said, reaching up for the familiar stuffed animal.  
  
"It's to help keep her grounded while Giles hypnotises her," Willow explained succinctly.  
  
Xander placed the plush pink pig in Buffy's outstretched arms with proper reverence, then turned to Willow. Buffy cuddled Mr Gordo to her chest, taking the same comfort in him that she had when she was a little girl.  
  
"Why are we hypnotising her?" Xander asked with a puzzled expression. "Ooh! Can I ask a couple of questions?" He gave Willow a comical leer and waggled his eyebrows.  
  
Willow and Giles shared a look, then Willow grabbed Xander's arm and pulled him out of the room so she could give him the full story.  
  
"Are you ready?" Giles asked softly, rearranging the cushion supporting Buffy's head.  
  
"Yes," she said positively.  
  
Only the tight grip she used to clutch Mr Gordo to her betrayed her nervousness.  
  
"Alright," Giles said, taking a deep breath. Buffy closed her eyes and mirrored it. He reached over and flipped the recording button on the tape player, then readied a pen to take notes.  
  
"I want you to imagine yourself floating," he said in a soft, soothing voice, "you are relaxed; there is nowhere you need to go and nothing you need to do ..."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"It's definitely about her?" Xander said desperately, closeted in the bathroom with Willow.  
  
"Looks like it," Willow said sadly.  
  
Xander reached for her and the two old friends embraced tightly, drawing comfort from each other.  
  
"It's like..." Xander began aimlessly, "every morning, I wake up and I know there's a chance she might be ... dead ... but I don't *know*, you know?"  
  
"I know," Willow agreed, "your head realises she could be and your heart just dismisses it."  
  
"But sometime the head's gonna be right," Xander said flatly.  
  
"She's determined she's going to do everything she can to fight this prophecy," Willow said, trying to regain some perk.  
  
"But there's always going to be another one," Xander replied.  
  
"Yeah, but ... we can't think like that," she said.  
  
They stood in despairing silence for long minutes.  
  
"Do you want to ..." Willow said eventually, indicating the door.  
  
Xander nodded and they crept out into the living room.  
  
Giles looked up briefly and nodded to them in acknowledgement, then transferred all of his attention back to Buffy, who was talking in a bright, faintly accented tone.  
  
"She's a good Watcher... not that I've had another, but Catherine has been good to me, and her family accepted me quickly as one of their own."  
  
"What about your own family?" Giles said, softly; not particularly needing the answer, but feeling an odd affection for this girl Sarah... this girl who must have, at least to some degree, shaped Buffy and who she was. The woman he loved as a daughter, and cared for as a Slayer.  
  
And now, whose death he tried to prevent by dragging her back to a death he wasn't even sure was an accurate memory.  
  
Buffy's voice, with the unfamiliar lilt, wavered. "I have six brothers and sisters, all younger, but I hardly know them. My parents like to see me sometimes and we write, but sometimes when I go home I feel that my parents are resentful that I can't send them money like the other people who have left the village do. I've been with Catherine's family for nearly three and a half years."  
  
"How old are you?" Giles asked.  
  
"Nineteen," she answered.   
  
Willow couldn't contain a soft gasp, "That's Buffy's age."  
  
"I am aware of that, Willow," Giles said a little more sharply than he meant. "It's a perfectly common age for a Slayer."  
  
"I had my Cruciamentum two months ago," Buffy said darkly. "Catherine sometimes gets upset because I still won't eat the food she prepares for me, but her daughter Alison understands."  
  
"How old is Alison?" Giles said, slightly surprised. He flipped through Catherine's Watcher's Diary quickly; no mention of children of her own.  
  
"My age," Buffy said, her own tone surprised, "one of twins. Richard is her brother. He occasionally trains with me, but Catherine won't allow it so much since I became the Slayer."  
  
"What? When was that?" Xander said, directing it at Giles.  
  
"Just over eighteen months ago," Buffy answered.  
  
"Then how come she's been with her Watcher so long?" Xander said more quietly, for Giles to answer.  
  
"Most Slayers are found and trained from an early age, even if they never get Called," Willow said impatiently, "Buffy was an exception."  
  
"An error in the Council files," Giles muttered. "Evan Holmes spent six years trying to train a perfectly normal girl named Bunny Smith."   
  
"How are Slayers found, then?" Xander said.  
  
Giles rolled his eyes, "Xander, it's pleasant that you're taking an interest, but do you think it could possibly be postponed until I *don't* have a Slayer in an altered state of consciousness waiting for me to find out how we can save her life?"  
  
"Sorry," Xander said in a cowed tone, withdrawing.  
  
"I often train alone now," Buffy was saying, unaware of the conversation taking place two feet and three centuries away from her. "Catherine's husband is something of a craftsman and sometimes tries to invent devices to help me," she giggled, "they don't usually work, but I love him for it."  
  
"Seventeenth century Stairmaster," Xander muttered in an aside to Willow. She grinned, but shushed him, intent on Buffy's face; it was undeniably Buffy, with all of her own expressions, but with subtle differences, tiny quirks, that meant at the same time she was undeniably Sarah. The differences only seemed to highlight how similar they were.  
  
"Occasionally I spar with both Richard and David at the same time, it offers more of a challenge," Buffy said idly.  
  
Giles looked up, his eyes meeting Willow's with a significant look that told her it was the first time that Buffy had mentioned the familiar name.  
  
"David?" Giles said carefully, fighting to keep his voice dispassionate. "Who is David, Sarah?"  
  
"David is my..." her voice trembled and trailed off.  
  
"Sarah?" he prompted.  
  
She was silent. Driven by an unknown instinct, Willow moved forward and took Buffy's hand in her own. Giles was about to caution her when Buffy squeezed her hand gratefully and resumed speaking.  
  
"David and I... he is my love, though none but us know it."  
  
"None but you?" Giles echoed, unsure how to proceed. He looked at Willow, a little helplessly; she shrugged and made a 'go-on' gesture.  
  
"None but you know it," he said more confidently. Willow rolled her eyes.  
  
Buffy hesitated.  
  
"Sarah?" he said.  
  
"Alison and Richard also know," Buffy said in a rush, "but if Catherine found out about us, and that they knew..."  
  
"She wouldn't approve?" Willow said, too surprised to stay silent.  
  
"Of course not," Buffy said as if it were obvious. "I am the Slayer."  
  
Willow sagged back in her seat, really appreciating for the first time just how free Giles had been with Buffy; letting her have friends, boyfriends, go out. Even stay with her mother.  
  
Willow had him to thank for her friendship with Buffy... yet she knew that Buffy perhaps had her friendship, all their friendships, to thank for her life.  
  
"How did you and David meet?" Giles asked gently, morbidly eager to find out about their relationship, and whether it at all mirrored the relationship Buffy would have with Angel in her time.  
  
"He lives in the next village. His elder sister married well, and we met at a ball she had arranged. She is trying to get him betrothed," a slight unhappiness entered her voice, "nobody knows that he is already married, in spirit and deed if not in law."  
  
"Would a marriage between you not be accepted?"  
  
"Never. I am accepted in their house, but I would not be so welcome in their family. He is above me ... gossips whisper in the street about my guardian and the hours he allows me to keep. I have been found more than once out late at night, and yet naturally my Slaying must remain a secret. Catherine and I move around frequently... I feel guilty because she has to move the whole family. I fear we are not so far away from such a move now."  
  
"What will happen to your relationship with David?"  
  
"He says he will follow me wherever I am called; promises to be with me always. I wish to believe him, but I fear the decision is out of his hands. Should he leave for me or with me he will be disinherited. He scoffs at my fears, says he doesn't care about that as long as he is with me, and for all I feel the same I cannot allow him to sacrifice so much for me. He swears that our meeting was destiny, and that destiny will keep him close by my side."  
  
"Giles," Willow interrupted quietly, "this isn't really..."  
  
Giles nodded at her and began to take Buffy to what he knew to be the night of Sarah's death.  
  
"Sarah, I want to go forward a little... do you remember fighting a Desuin demon?"  
  
"Yes. I was afraid; little but vampires has ever been observed in this area, and I was not prepared for an unfamiliar demon. A travesty for a Slayer; I should have been."  
  
"Did you meet that demon again?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Giles noted her apparent reluctance to go on, but nudged her anyway.  
  
"Can we go through that night, Sarah?"  
  
"We were ..."  
  
"We?"  
  
"David and I. He does not often accompany me on patrol," her tone became wistful, "but he can handle himself well now when called upon to battle. He declares it an honour to watch me fight, and more so to fight at my side. But," she giggled girlishly, "I find him to be something of a distraction, so -"  
  
"That night, Sarah."  
  
"We walked by the stream. There is a natural cave formation there which is often chosen by vampires. We went in together, and..." her voice trembled.  
  
Giles looked at Willow, allowing her to see his hesitation at forcing Buffy/Sarah to relive what had to be painful memories. She gave a tiny nod to indicate that she thought he should continue, and he did.  
  
"Tell me what happened, Sarah."  
  
"The demon attacked before we had time to adjust to the darkness," she said bleakly. "As the Slayer, I was able to avoid its sword, but David was injured. It was not grievous, but he was unable to fight. I had to protect him and... the demon was easily able to attack me."  
  
"What is the last thing you remember?"  
  
"The demon caught me on the head and I fell."  
  
She was silent.  
  
"You fell?"  
  
"Into a faint."  
  
"That is the last thing you remember?"  
  
"Yes. I failed him," she began to cry softly, "he must have been killed ... I couldn't ..."  
  
"Bring her out," Xander said suddenly, pleadingly.  
  
"Yes, I think we're finished," Giles said, fighting not to show how affected he was. He leaned over Buffy and called in a clear voice, "When I clap my hands, you will wake up Buffy Summers, in the year 2000."  
  
He clapped sharply and Buffy's eyes shot open. She drew in a breath and expelled it with a long hiss, than pulled herself up to a sitting position, unconsciously clutching Mr Gordo.  
  
"Well," she said shakily, "that was interesting."  
  
"She could have hit her head when she fell and gotten brain damage," Willow reasoned.  
  
"No," Buffy said, staring into nothingness, "it was the demon. The demon killed her. Me. I know it."  
  
"And, there's the prophecy," Giles said tiredly, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.  
  
"But you still don't know how it killed her," Xander pointed out, "so the whole thing was kind of a bust, no?"   
  
"No," Buffy said. She fixed big eyes on him, and he shivered involuntarily, unnerved.  
  
"Buffy, as far as I can see, he's right," Giles said, "Sarah was unconscious at the point of death and so neither dreams nor further hypnosis will be able to procure the minutiae of her decease."  
  
"Yeah, and you won't be able to find out how she died," Xander said.   
  
Giles shot him a wearied look.  
  
Buffy returned to her staring, dismissing them all.  
  
"Not from my mind we won't," she said dreamily.  
  
* * * * *  



	6. Part 5

"If you try Rick's, they might be able to get it," Angel advised Cordelia, veering off into the room where Wesley sat poring over a collection of books.  
  
"Fine," she said, grabbing her coat and heading out.  
  
Angel moved swiftly over to Wesley and sat down, pulling one of the books over to himself as the phone began to ring.  
  
"Cordy, get that?" he called absently, then turned to Wesley, asking "anything new?"  
  
"I've got a possibility of a Vehori demon," Wesley said doubtfully, passing over one of the pictures, "but -"  
  
"Angel, it's Giles," Cordy said, peering in through the door. "He wants to talk to you." She looked mildly worried.  
  
Angel paused, wondering why the Watcher was calling him. He abandoned the research and walked to the phone, grabbing it up.  
  
"Hello?" he said.  
  
"Angel, hello," was the reply down the phone line, "how are you?"  
  
Angel rolled his eyes and indicated to the hovering Cordelia to go on her errand.  
  
"We're all fine, and you?" he said with barely disguised impatience.  
  
"Problems," Giles said ruefully.  
  
"Why else would you be calling?" Angel said brusquely. There was a silence from the other end and Angel heaved an unnecessary sigh, "Sorry. We're kind of ... having a bad week."  
  
"Quite," Giles said with the faintest note of disapproval, but he quickly moved on to other matters.  
  
"Buffy has of late been experiencing some rather unusual dreams," he paused, waiting to see if Angel would make any comment. He didn't, and Giles continued, "she has been reliving the lives of former Slayers, one in particular, a seventeenth century English girl named Sarah who ..."  
  
"Giles," Angel interrupted, making even less of an attempt to hide his impatience, "get to the point."  
  
"Buffy appears to be the reincarnation of this Sarah," Giles said simply.  
  
"Okay," Angel said slowly. "Too pointy."  
  
"I found a prophecy stating that Sarah would be killed twice, by the same demon," Giles recounted, "and it almost certainly refers to Buffy as the second victim."  
  
Angel closed his eyes, gripping the phone tightly enough to break it as a wave of pure terror passed through him. He fought it down, forcibly relaxing his hands and shoulders.  
  
"What do," he said inaudibly. He cleared his throat and said, still quietly, but calmly, "What do you want me to do?"  
  
"Buffy is determined to beat the prophecy," Giles told him. A bittersweet smile spread across Angel's face, "Of course she is," he muttered to himself.  
  
"To that end, she requested that I hypnotise her to find out how the demon kills, but unfortunately she ... Sarah was knocked unconscious first and we were unable to learn anything pertinent."  
  
"So you want us to look for the MO of the demon," Angel said, reaching for pen and paper.  
  
"No," Giles said.  
  
"Then what?" Angel asked, confused.  
  
Giles hesitated, then said reluctantly, "A number of combined events have left Buffy with the belief that ... ah, you are the reincarnation of a man who was with her, with Sarah, at the time."  
  
"Who?" Angel asked faintly.  
  
"His name was David," Giles said. "He was her lover."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"God knows what you've witnessed," Willow said, her eyes shining with academic fervour, "this is so ..."  
  
"Cool?" Buffy offered with a wan smile.  
  
"You don't think it's cool?" Willow said hopefully.  
  
Buffy sighed, "I guess in a way it's cool. But you know that quote, 'life's not just one damn thing after another, it's one damn thing over and over'?"  
  
"No," Willow stated, "but feel free to go on."  
  
"Well, it's like it means life isn't just one damn thing over and over. All lives are. Everything is. At least for me." She looked up at Willow's puzzled expression and groaned, "I'm not explaining this well."  
  
"No, I think I see what you mean," Willow said. "You feel done over?"  
  
"Yes," Buffy said in relief. "Like they said, you have to do this job and it's really kind of sucky, but then you can stop. And now I'm finding out I can't stop."  
  
"Not necessarily," Willow said.  
  
"What do you mean?" Buffy said, moving restlessly on Giles' couch. It was almost sunset; lately, she often felt uneasy at that time.  
  
"Sarah is only one life," Willow said, shrugging, "you've probably had stacks of lives, and you can't have been Slayers in them all. And because you've been a Slayer at least twice, they might have given you some of the ... choice people the rest of the time."  
  
"Like royalty? Rich people who get waited on hand and foot by a stream of athletic young men wearing nothing but loincloths and big grins?" Buffy said, getting into it.  
  
"Yeah!" Willow agreed, "oh, and," her eyes grew big, "d'you think you've been a guy?!"  
  
Buffy thought about it.  
  
"No," she said.  
  
"No," Willow agreed.  
  
"How come only Buffy gets past lives, anyway?" Xander griped playfully.  
  
"Maybe it's like a celestial deal," Willow said, "two lives for the price of one Slayerhood."  
  
"Guys?" Buffy said, "we don't know if I've even had other lives apart from Sarah and this one. Or even if *you've* had others."  
  
"Maybe Giles could do a group hypnosis," Willow said, thinking aloud.  
  
"I don't think so!" he called from his bedroom.  
  
"Maybe I could learn to do hypnosis," she carried on without missing a beat.  
  
"Possible," he said, coming down the stairs, "but trying to go straight from being a novice to past-life regression would be unwise."  
  
She made a face at him and settled back into the sofa cushions.  
  
Buffy jumped up and followed Giles as he moved into the kitchen.  
  
"Could you regress me again?" she said, trying to pitch her voice quietly.  
  
"Why?" he said, looking at her probingly.  
  
"I want to know about other lives I've had," she said.  
  
"You want to know about Sarah's life," he said softly.  
  
She looked down.  
  
"Sarah's life with David," he finished.  
  
"Is that so bad?" she asked him.  
  
"No, Buffy, it's not bad at all," he said, smiling at her fondly, "but I feel that at this time it wouldn't be sensible. We need to concentrate on how the Desuin will affect *your* life." He hesitated, then added gently, "Sarah and David are long dead."  
  
"Not as long as Angel and I are alive," she told him.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"I really don't think that this is a good idea," Cordelia said, hovering anxiously over Angel, who was lying prone on his bed.  
  
"Giles seems quite eager for this information," Wesley pointed out, pulling up a chair and taking a long gulp of the water on the bedside table.  
  
"He needs it," Angel said definitively. "I'm not letting some prophecy happen to Buffy knowing I might have been able to stop it."  
  
"Always comes back to Buffy," Cordelia muttered.  
  
She immediately felt bad when Angel fixed her with a reproachful gaze. She offered him a tiny, apologetic smile, and was glad to see his answering half-smirk.  
  
"Just try ... not to explode his head or anything," she cautioned Wesley, turning to leave the room.  
  
"You're not staying?" Angel called after her, and she recognised the laugh in his voice. Unfamiliar as it was.  
  
"I've already seen you chained, evil and in a towel," she yelled back, "I want to preserve some of the mystery here!"  
  
Wesley took another sip and regarded Angel. "Evil in a towel?"  
  
"Well, not at the same time," he said.  
  
"Fine, fine," Wesley said, then paused, "are you ready?"  
  
"Hit me," Angel said, closing his eyes and shifting slightly, making the mattress squeak.  
  
Wesley prepared to begin the hypnosis technique Giles had reminded him of during their phone conversation earlier. Wesley was under the impression that the other Watcher had revealed more to him than he had to Angel, detailing the prophecy and questions Wesley would need to ask; yet Angel had grasped the import of the information Giles believed was locked in his head, and had agreed instantly to the hypnosis.  
  
Wesley took a deep breath and leant over his boss.  
  
"Imagine yourself floating," he instructed in a low voice, "relaxed; with nothing that must be done, nowhere you must go."  
  
He watched with concern as Angel forcibly relaxed his tense muscles.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Maybe there's some other way we could find out about your potential past lives without hypnosis," Willow mused, casually flicking through a book on meditation. Giles had needed to get back to the shop, so they were once again holed up in the back room.  
  
"Yeah," Xander said, "we'll go through every Watcher's diary ever, and you can tell us if anything seems familiar."  
  
Willow shot him a disapproving glance. "I was thinking of a spell of some sort, actually."  
  
"Spells?" Buffy said doubtfully, "Will, I appreciate the thought, but I, uh ..."  
  
"Wouldn't trust anything she came up with under your spellcraft?" Xander volunteered helpfully.  
  
Now both Buffy and Willow sent him matching glares.  
  
"She wouldn't be coming up with anything," Willow muttered. "I was thinking of something that would just show us how many lives she's had. It should just be a matter of sensing her Power signature and then identifying it back through time."  
  
"Yeah, sure," Xander said. "It'd probably be quicker if you did learn hypnosis."  
  
"Sounds uncomfortably like time travel," Giles commented, passing through with an empty mug.  
  
"No, no time travel required," Willow said, "I don't think."  
  
"You might want to be a little more sure before you go poking around in Buffy's head," Xander recommended.  
  
"No poking required!" Willow said, exasperated.  
  
"Shame!" Anya yelled through from the shop floor.  
  
"Still backing your choice of girlfriend, there," Buffy said dryly.  
  
"Hey," Tara said shyly, hovering in the doorway.  
  
"Not you!" Buffy said hastily.  
  
"Me," Xander explained.  
  
"Not that he's anyone's girlfriend," Buffy said, "about *his* girlfriend."  
  
"Who we are backing," Willow finished affectionately, taking Tara's hand and drawing her into their corner.  
  
"What's going on?" Tara asked, sitting down next to Willow and sliding her glance over the book she had open.  
  
"Past lives," Buffy said by way of explanation.  
  
"Buffy's past lives," Willow expanded.  
  
"And what fun they were," Xander murmured.  
  
"I mentioned her dreams," Willow reminded her girlfriend.  
  
"Yeah," Tara said, "I remember."  
  
"So, the question of the day is, are there any spells that will tell us how many she's had?" Willow said.  
  
Tara frowned in thought. "Have you tried hypnosis?"  
  
Buffy and Xander let out twin groans.  
  
"What?" she said.  
  
"Tried it. She only remembered one life, and Giles said it might be dangerous right now to get deeply into it," Willow filled in quietly.  
  
"That demon?" Tara said.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"So, spells," Xander chipped in cheerfully, "and you two are the spellsters around here ..."  
  
"I don't know about recalling specific lives," Tara said slowly, "but I guess we could try to bring up her lifeline ..."  
  
"Oh, I know this," Xander said proudly. "You're going to read her palm."  
  
"No," Tara said with an sweet, apologetic smile, "it's like ... in Ancient Greece, they believed in the Fates, three goddesses who spun the thread of life, measured it, and cut it? Every person has a lifeline, or a fateline, like that, in the ethereal realm. I think it would show all the lives of that person. There are spells to make it visible. I've never done one," she looked at Willow, "but it shouldn't be too difficult."  
  
"Can't harm," Willow said, shrugging, "do you have a spell for it?"  
  
"I think so."  
  
"So you're just going to need supplies," Xander said.  
  
The other three looked at him and then deliberately over to the doorway.  
  
"What?" he said, then got it. "Magic shop. Right."  
  
Willow and Tara got up together.  
  
Xander looked at a very quiet Buffy. "Well, we can ..."  
  
"Snacks?" she said.  
  
"A girl after my own heart!" he beamed.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Wesley flipped through the notes he had taken on the phone to Giles, then switched to the books he had which dealt with hypnosis.  
  
A very un-hypnotised Angel sat and watched him get more and more frustrated.  
  
"Guess that lets me off having to pretend I'm a chicken," he said, trying to defuse some of the tension.  
  
Wesley took his glasses off, reaching into his pocket for a cloth.  
  
"I'm very sorry about this, Angel."  
  
"It's fine," the vampire told him.  
  
"There must be professionals in the city," Wesley conceded, "perhaps you should try one of them."  
  
"Yeah," Angel said drolly, "two hours under hypnosis and two days explaining about the demon I remember being killed by."  
  
Wesley looked down at the clean lenses he was rubbing.  
  
"Hey, look, it's not your fault," Angel said.  
  
"I did tell you I wasn't the best at this," Wesley muttered sadly.  
  
"No, I mean it," Angel said, "maybe... maybe there's a reason you couldn't hypnotise me."  
  
"Oh, it's not you, it's me," Wesley said tiredly.  
  
"Or it's me," Angel said quietly, "more specifically, it's the demon."  
  
"You think it's an instinctive reaction?" Wesley said, interested despite himself.  
  
"Preventing the demon any kind of opportunity to take over," Angel said.  
  
Wesley entertained the idea for a moment.  
  
"No," he said eventually, "if that were the case, your body would surely prevent you from even sleeping. Or any activity where your subconscious is allowed to take over."  
  
Angel considered it for a moment, thinking about what Wesley had said.  
  
"Do you know about the time I spent in hell?" he said after a moment, his voice toneless.  
  
"After your, ah, return to Angelus, I believe?" Wesley said delicately.  
  
"Yeah," Angel said, "I don't remember much about the time I was there. But I know I've had a hell of a lot of nightmares about it."  
  
"And it's not unheard of for someone repressing a trauma to resist hypnosis," Wesley said, following the thought on.  
  
"Right," Angel said.  
  
They sat in silence for a few moments.  
  
"I suppose I'll call Mr. Giles, then," Wesley said tactfully, leaving Angel alone to contemplate the repercussions of his inability to help.  
  
* * * * * 


	7. Part 6

"Hey, Xander," Riley said, coming into the shop, "what's going on?"  
  
"We're trying to find out about Buffy's past lives," Xander said matter-of-factly, looking up from his careful arrangement of chocolatey goodness on the table in front of him. "This demon thing has her wigged ... the hypnosis wasn't too helpful ... the witches offered their magickal assistance."  
  
Riley gazed blankly at Xander's thorough collection, "Is she around?"  
  
"I think she went out for some air," Xander said, then noticed Riley's stare, "hey, you want?"  
  
"No," he said, "I think I'll just go find Buffy."  
  
Without waiting for Xander's response he walked out of the shop, searching aimlessly for Buffy; knowing he would never find her if she wished to stay hidden, but hoping she would call out to him. Reach out to him the way he was beginning to realise she never would.  
  
Which was why it surprised him to see her blonde head sitting motionless on the sidewalk a little way down the street, resting her head on her drawn-up knees. He jogged up to her, sitting down next to her, not touching.  
  
"Hi," he said tentatively.  
  
"Hi, Riley," she said with a gentle smile, then they lapsed into uncomfortable silence.  
  
"What's the demon thing and why are you getting hypnotised?" he blurted out, wondering absently exactly when his mouth had lost its connection to his brain.  
  
He didn't notice when she stiffened, and he didn't pick up on the strain in her voice when she answered.  
  
"It's a Slayer thing," she said, "don't worry about it." She forced a light laugh. Remember the Cs - cool, calm, collected.   
  
Caught out.  
  
"It's enough of a Slayer thing for Tara and Willow to be doing spells," he said reasonably, recognising that she was shutting him out and powerless as to how to stop her.  
  
"That demon you... fought... the other day? It's an assassin that's already killed a version of me trying to kill me again, but I want to stop it," she said, praying the tiny amount of vague information would keep him happy, but knowing it wouldn't; that she wouldn't be happy if he tried to fob her off with that. But she was the Slayer; it was her job. His ex-job.  
  
"What?!" he said loudly. He heard 'kill' first, and instinctively tried to drape a protective arm around her shoulders, then tried not to feel hurt when she evaded his embrace.  
  
"I can deal with it," she said sharply.  
  
"We can deal with it," he corrected.  
  
"No, Riley," she said, standing up and turning on him. For once, he looked up at her, and a cynical little part of him taunted him with the knowledge that that felt more normal.  
  
"I don't want you getting hurt," she said.  
  
"Let me help you," he insisted.  
  
"Just be there," she said quickly. "That's all I need."  
  
Now he stood up too, and enfolded her into his arms for a strong hug.  
  
"I love you," he murmured into her hair, hoping she would reply in kind - but knowing she was unlikely to start now.  
  
"PDA alert!" came Willow's good-natured voice from behind them. "Come on, we're all ready."  
  
Riley tried very hard not to notice the relief on Buffy's face as she pulled away to greet Willow and Tara.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"We use these photos to connect us to you so we can find your line," Willow explained as she and Tara diligently set up the spell.  
  
"I look awful in this picture," Xander said, leaning over to pick it up until a warning slap on his hand from Tara stopped him, "why are there pictures of me anyway?"  
  
"There's pictures of all of us," Willow said reprovingly, "it's so we can identify any other lines caught up in Buffy's."  
  
"Sounds complicated," Riley said, unobtrusively scanning the collection of pictures for one of him. He was relieved to see it, a snapshot of he and Buffy relaxing together on the beach from during the summer.  
  
"Oh, you won't understand any of it," Willow said airily, concentrating on the figures she was chalking on to the bare floor. Riley bristled, about to comment.  
  
Tara forstalled him, explaining, "She means what happens to the pictures. We'll do the spell and then we'll translate what happens for you."  
  
Willow got up and looked at Buffy, "Have you got any pictures of Angel?"  
  
"What? Why?" Riley said instantly.  
  
"Because we already know he's been in at least one life," Willow said, surprised at his aggressive tone.  
  
"How do we know that?" Riley exclaimed.  
  
"From her dreams... and the hypnosis," Willow said, belatedly realising she might have said something wrong.  
  
He swung to face Buffy, "Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"Because I thought you'd react like this," Buffy snapped, reacting to his aggressive behaviour with Slayer-Buffy, instead of the Buffy-Buffy Riley usually saw. She firmly told herself she was being irrational and forcibly calmed her voice to go on, "It's past, Riley. It doesn't mean anything."  
  
"That we know of yet," Tara said in a quiet aside to Willow.  
  
"Then why bother with this, Buffy?" he said, stepping closer.  
  
"Because I want to know," she said, fighting down anger as he continued to invade her space, wondering what was wrong with her; she'd had him far closer than that.  
  
"You want to know about the past," he said resentfully. "What's wrong with the now?"  
  
"Nothing's wrong with the now," she said. "We just discussed this, Riley. I'm trying to make sure I get as much now as possible, remember?"  
  
"But you didn't mention he's involved in it," he said persistently.  
  
"Um, photo?" Willow intervened gingerly, noticing the slight change in Buffy's stance and the 'I'm not taking anymore of this crap' glint in her eye.  
  
Buffy wavered for a moment, then slowly walked over to her bag. Feeling all their eyes on her, Riley's burning into her back, she rifled through the backpack slowly, finding her wallet and pulling out the photo Cordelia had sent over six months ago, on an apparent whim she had never explained to Buffy.  
  
Buffy stared at the precious photo for a moment, forgetting that they were waiting for her. Angel looked so much like she remembered; dressed all in black, he looked distinctly uncomfortable to be photographed, looking past the camera at the photographer, seemingly holding a conversation - his lips were curved in the characteristic smirk that passed for a smile in Angel's admittedly quite limited range of expressions. It wasn't that he didn't feel the emotions, as she well knew - so well - but that he hid them from the world. From everyone.  
  
Except her, once upon a time.  
  
She took a deep breath and turned, not meeting Riley's or Xander's eyes with the question she knew would be there ('why do you carry around a photo of him?'), but giving the picture straight to Willow in exchange for a sympathetic smile.  
  
"Yeah, past," Riley said snidely.  
  
"Not. Here," she gritted out, not looking at him, her patience gone.  
  
"Then where?" Riley said angrily. "Tonight, which you won't spend with me again, or tomorrow when you'll be dealing with this demon you won't tell me about, or the day after when ..."  
  
"So, are we casting this spell?" Xander said loudly, stepping forward.  
  
Buffy's eyes met Willow's.  
  
"Cast it," she said definitely, effectively dismissing Riley.  
  
Tara shooed them away from the careful circle she and Willow had created, then took up her position opposite the other witch. Both took deep, cleansing breaths, their heads bowed, preparing to raise their power.  
  
Instinctively, Buffy drew back, gesturing Xander and Riley to follow. Xander did so immediately, taking a place just at her back; Riley stood resolutely at her side.  
  
Tara raised her head and began in a voice imbued with power.  
  
"Fates, goddesses of fortune. Hear us."  
  
Willow threw a bundle of herbs into the centre of the circle, where they smoked.  
  
"You who determine destiny. Be with us."  
  
Buffy stared at her, unprepared for the sudden unfamiliarity of her best friend.  
  
"Weavers of fate, come to us," Tara and Willow intoned together, focusing on the centre of the circle as they began a slow, synchronised step around its circumference.  
  
"Clotho, spinner of the thread of life; show us this fateline," Willow said. She threw another item into the circle. Craning her neck, Buffy could see it was the picture of herself.  
  
"Lachesis, she who measures the thread; describe us this fateline," Tara said, adding the other photos to the smouldering picture of Buffy.  
  
"Atropos, cutter of the thread; grant us this fateline," Willow said. She flicked her wrist, and a fine shower of powder settled onto the pictures.  
  
As the photos disappeared in a sudden haze of blue smoke, Buffy tensed, prepared to get her friends out of danger. She relaxed when she realised that the smog was confined to the circle.  
  
Tara and Willow stopped simultaneously and walked straight into the centre of the circle.  
  
"The unchangeable, the inexorable, the absolute," Buffy heard them chant from where they were hidden by the billow of pale blue smoke.  
  
"Reveal to us this fateline; show us this past; reveal to us this fateline; show us this past."  
  
There was a blast of pure white light, radiating out from inside the circle.  
  
Buffy dived to the floor, tackling Xander down and pulling Riley with her. Turning to face the circle, she shaded her eyes and seemed to see a thousand silver lines wending their way through, to and around the circle; then the image was gone, and Tara and Willow became visible through the fast-clearing smoke.  
  
"So mote it be," Willow cried, echoed seconds later by Tara.  
  
They moved towards each other and hugged tightly for a few seconds, as the light crackled around them and faded; then they turned, and Buffy felt a wash of relief as Willow gave her old, sweet smile and came out of the circle to help them up.  
  
Buffy peered past her into the circle; the photos were scattered around the circle, apparently randomly.  
  
"So do we know stuff?" she heard Xander say behind her, his voice seeming loud and coarse in the unnatural quiet of the room.  
  
"We can interpret, if that's what you mean," Willow said.  
  
Buffy halted at the edge of the circle, wondering whether she could enter. Tara reached for her, touched her arm gently, and Buffy felt an unexpected zing as the residues of their magick flowed into her. She shared a smile with Tara, then the witch went to join Willow to discuss their impressions, and Buffy entered the circle alone.  
  
She slowly leaned over, picking up her picture.  
  
One edge was completely fused with that of the shot of Angel.  
  
* * * * *  



	8. Part 7

"I suppose that's an option ... yes, I know that ..."  
  
"What's an option?" Angel asked, hovering around Wesley as he spoke   
to Giles.  
  
"Hang on," Wesley said into the phone, then turned to Angel, "if you   
were to go to Sunnydale."  
  
Angel opened his mouth, then shut it, unsure as to whether he had   
been about to flatly refuse or enthusiastically acquiesce.  
  
"Just because you had some success with Buffy doesn't mean... I   
concede that you are more fully trained in hypnosis, but the reason   
for my inability to hypnotise Angel is based on more than my   
skills... yes, or lack thereof... I certainly don't agree that the   
hellmouth would help, more likely produce a complete shutdown... yes,   
but the demonic nature is balanced with the soul... I'm more inclined   
to believe in that, though if her dreams were triggered by an unknown   
factor there is no guarantee it will work for Angel... is there some   
kind of ritual going on in your back room? It seems terribly   
noisy... what? well, that is a good point... the Tabden Chronicles?   
I'm not sure... yes, we do have a copy, but not every assassin is   
featured, you know... really? Whose link was that?... of course, she   
was an admirable researcher... yes. Yes, of course. I'll let you   
know. Goodbye."  
  
Wesley noted down some details on the pad in front of him and then   
looked up into Angel's eyes.  
  
"We need a speaker phone," Angel said dryly.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"What's happened to that?" Riley asked, taking the melded photos from   
Buffy before she could stop him.  
  
She watched his face carefully for a reaction, but it remained blank   
as he examined the pictures, running his fingers across the join,   
turning it over and over in his hands.  
  
"What's this mean?" he said in a level tone, turning to face the two   
witches, who were flopped into chairs, greedily sucking down glasses   
of water.   
  
When Willow realised what he was waving at them, she got up and   
hurried over, reaching for the picture.  
  
"We were kind of hoping to talk to Buffy about that. Alone," she   
said, casting a worried glance over at Tara.  
  
"We're all friends here," Riley said with the faintest hint of   
mocking. "You can tell us."  
  
"Tell us what?" Xander asked, coming to join the huddle. He looked   
at the picture over Willow's shoulder, and his eyes grew big. "Okay,   
what the hell?" he said, trying to take it from Willow.  
  
"I don't know what happened to it," Buffy said, taking the picture   
from Willow and clutching it protectively.  
  
"We do," Tara said softly. She came up on the other side of Buffy,   
so that she and Willow subtly surrounded the Slayer, ready to lend   
her their support.  
  
"Feel free to enlighten us," Riley said, standing stiffly, arms   
crossed over his chest. He wouldn't look at Buffy.  
  
"This happened," and Willow indicated the picture Buffy   
held, "because she and Angel are, well, they're ..."  
  
"Twin souls," Tara filled in calmly.  
  
"Soulmates," Riley muttered with loathing.  
  
"That's another term for it, yes," Tara said, unruffled.  
  
"There's a number of words for the phenomenon," Willow said, watching   
Riley anxiously. "It means that their souls are linked."  
  
"If it's considered to be a phenomenon, that means it isn't common,   
doesn't it?" Riley said, meeting Willow's gaze with a head-on, angry   
stare.  
  
"More common than you might think," Tara said easily. "Soulmate   
doesn't necessarily entail a romantic commitment, that's just the   
most widely known aspect. We actually figured out Buffy's got a   
number of soulmates."  
  
"Great," Buffy said, trying to defuse some of the tension she felt   
emanating from Riley. "I'm like a psyche-slut."  
  
"It's types," Willow said, grinning, "from the way your line was   
tangled with others, we think that you've picked up three twin   
soulmates, which is the friend-type bond."  
  
"Three ..." Buffy said slowly, thinking.  
  
"Your line was joined at various times by mine, Xander's, and   
Giles'," Willow said softly.  
  
"Oh ..." Buffy breathed, overcome with affection, "you guys ..."  
  
"Group hug!" Xander declared, sweeping up the two women in his arms.   
They laughed and hugged him back.  
  
"So how many lives have I put up with his bad jokes over?" Buffy said   
affably, trying to focus on Tara's reaction to the news, which was   
far more pleasant than Riley's.  
  
"Around eight," Tara told her, "we couldn't tell exactly, but we   
thought you've had about thirty lives."  
  
"Which actually makes you pretty young, as far as these things go,"   
Willow said cheerfully.  
  
"How many have you had?" Buffy asked, curious.  
  
"We don't know, because the spell wasn't specific to me," was the   
answer, "but I've shared the same number with you as Xander has, and   
our lines were tangled before they joined with yours."  
  
"That's my girl!" Xander cried, enveloping Willow in another   
enthusiastic embrace. Willow's eyes met Tara's over his shoulder,   
and they shared a secret smile.  
  
"Was my line there at all?" Riley said, hating himself for the   
whining undertone in his voice, feeling completely alone surrounded   
by his friends. Surrounded by Buffy's friends.  
  
"Yeah," Willow said, her eyes flicking to Tara.  
  
"Companion soulmate," Tara picked up, "one who crosses our lives to   
teach us something, or share something with us, and then ..."  
  
"Leaves," he finished bitterly.  
  
"A companion soulmate can become a twin soulmate in the next life,"   
Willow interjected, unhappy at the desolation obvious in Riley's   
slouch. Despite being aware that his relationship with Buffy would   
never be complete while his love was not reciprocated - and she knew   
that it wasn't - she liked the former commando.  
  
But then, she'd liked Angel, and look how that had gone; he and Buffy   
had been first bound together by destiny then torn apart by it.  
  
Her statement did serve to brighten Riley. "So this could be our   
first time ..." he said hopefully, reaching for Buffy's hand.  
  
She took it, squeezed it, and dropped it within the space of a few   
seconds.  
  
"Maybe," she said with a lukewarm smile, but she could not quite meet   
his eyes and the hand that had clasped his so briefly returned   
rapidly to the photographs of her and Angel.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"So, I'm sure you're eager for a chance to return to the homestead by   
now," Wesley began, leaning over Cordelia's desk.  
  
She looked up from the computer, her brow furrowed.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Visit home," he clarified.  
  
"Ohhh," she said. "No."  
  
"Why not?" Wesley said.  
  
"Why do you want me to?" she countered.  
  
He sighed and got up, beginning to pace the floor.  
  
"You know that the hypnosis was not entirely successful."  
  
"Not at all successful, I think that was," she reminded him, "and if   
you're going to pace like that you should ask Angel to loan you his   
coat again."  
  
He shot her a sharp look, but he did stop pacing.  
  
"Giles has requested that Angel go up to Sunnydale so that *he* can   
try the hypnosis on him."  
  
"And my presence is required because ...?" she asked, looking up at   
him sceptically.  
  
"It's not required," Wesley stated simply, "more a case of it being   
desired. It will be hard for... both Angel and myself to simply walk   
back into their lives in Sunnydale."  
  
"And you think *I* would make it easier," Cordy said. "Me. Who   
doesn't get on with the pinnacle of that group, the Slayer herself,   
used to date the requisite goofy guy, who by the way is now dating an   
ex-demon who lost her powers through a wish I apparently made, and   
with whom I had a very messy breakup involving his infidelity with a   
girl I used to taunt. I can really see myself smoothing your way   
there, Wes."  
  
"You may have a point," he said worriedly.  
  
"Were you just going to shut up shop here for a couple of weeks or   
whatever?" Cordelia demanded.  
  
"Well, yes, obviously," Wesley said, "if Angel isn't here to do the   
actual demon fighting..."  
  
"Then I should just say no, thanks, sorry we can't save you to the   
subjects of those mindnumbing messages from the Powers That Be I get   
occasionally?" she said.  
  
"No?" Wesley tried.  
  
"No!" she said, standing up. "It's Angel's job to look after those   
people."  
  
"It's my job to protect the innocent," Angel said, coming forward   
from the shadows.  
  
"Damn! I thought we broke him of the in-house lurking," Cordelia   
muttered.  
  
"And it strikes me that the best way to do that right now is to help   
Buffy," he said, pretending he hadn't heard her comment, though one   
corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile.  
  
"Yeah," Cordy said, "how is that again?"  
  
"She's the Slayer," he said simply, shrugging.  
  
"You're going, aren't you?" she said softly.  
  
"Yeah," he said.  
  
She came over to stand in front of him, speaking to him quietly while   
Wesley perched on the desk.  
  
"To see her with her new boyfriend?" she said.  
  
She noticed the visible flinch, the tiny tensing of the muscles that   
told her just how very much Angel wasn't looking forward to that   
prospect - but saw also the steel resolve and very basic, very   
familiar concern for Buffy that would make him endure it.  
  
"I have to," he said, almost inaudibly.  
  
She gave him a tiny smile. "When are we leaving?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Do you want me to explain that now?" Willow said softly to Buffy,   
sitting down by the Slayer in their dorm room.   
  
Buffy was staring at the melded photos, which she had retrieved where   
she had briefly stashed it in her bag to escape the attentions of   
Riley and Xander; pleased with their own roles in the extended The   
Lives and Loves of Buffy Summers, they had forced the others into an   
impromptu celebration at the Bronze. Giles had declined to join   
them, but had given Buffy a rare hug when he heard that his line had   
been twined with hers.   
  
"Yeah. Is this where I hear about the soulmate that does entail a   
romantic commitment?" Buffy said.  
  
"Yeah, it is," Willow answered, watching Buffy closely to gauge her   
reaction. She didn't betray one, so the witch continued.  
  
"The twin flame soulmate bond is the one everyone knows about, the   
whole electric-current-sparkage-thing, unspoken bond, two halves of   
the same soul, all that... a lot of lifetimes together is   
characteristic of it. Real romance novel stuff."  
  
"Romance novel?" Buffy echoed with a disbelieving look.  
  
"Maybe not now," Willow said, choosing her words carefully, "but it   
doesn't mean all your lives together have been bad. You evolve   
together through your lives. That's kind of the whole point."  
  
"Forever. That's the whole point," Buffy said, stretching to   
remember where the words had come from... she remembered a beach,   
strong, familiar arms keeping her safe. "Home," she said.  
  
"Yeah," Willow said. "Did you... know, the first time you saw Angel?"  
  
"That I loved him?" Buffy said, a wistful smile gracing her   
lips. "Not really. He told me once that he knew right away, but for   
me... no. No, I didn't. But he got under my skin then."  
  
"And he hasn't left," Willow said.  
  
"Oh, he has," Buffy said bitingly, the smile disappearing, "don't you   
remember?"  
  
"I mean, he's still in you," Willow said gently.  
  
Buffy's eyes filled with tears and Willow pulled her friend's head to   
her shoulder, wrapping an arm around Buffy's own, thin shoulders and   
rocking her.  
  
"I told Giles the other day I didn't have repressed Angel issues and   
it was true," Buffy said through her tears, "and now I'm just getting   
new ones." She half-laughed and hiccuped at the same time.  
  
"Overcoming problems is part of it too," Willow murmured.  
  
"But we didn't overcome!" Buffy said, sitting up. "We ignored, or we   
avoided, but we never faced anything. Not really."  
  
"Angelus? Faith?" Willow suggested, able to think of a hundred other   
examples.  
  
"We never talked about Angelus," Buffy said emptily, "or Faith,   
except for last spring when we argued. We walked away."  
  
"I thought you agreed with his decision to leave," Willow said.  
  
"I did. I do. But I never thought..." Buffy took a deep, hitching   
breath. "I never really thought of it as over, you know?"  
  
"Like if you round a corner in India in fifty years and he's there,   
you won't be surprised?" Willow said, smiling gently.  
  
"Yeah. How'd you -"  
  
"That's what I told Oz," Willow said, able now to think of the   
werewolf with deep affection; some part of herself she knew he would   
always hold.  
  
"You get it," Buffy said.  
  
"Oh, I don't know that Oz and I were twin flames," Willow said, "but   
there was a connection, yeah."  
  
"Yeah, there was," Buffy agreed, smiling at Willow. "You guys were   
good together." Unspoken was the sentence 'not like me and Angel'.  
  
"So were you and Angel," Willow said strongly. "When you were... I   
mean, before it went... before he went bad, I've never seen anything   
like you two. Do you want to know what your lines looked like   
together?"  
  
Buffy looked at the picture lying on the bed. "Anything like that?"  
  
"Yeah," Willow said, "fused. Like, completely entangled... we had   
some trouble figuring where yours ended and his started. You two are   
destined for each other in a big way, Buffy. Whatever you two bring   
about in this life, you have to remember that."  
  
"I will," Buffy said, tracing her fingers lightly over Angel's face   
in the picture. "I know."  
  
* * * * *  



	9. Part 8

Angel drummed his fingers on the dash impatiently, ignoring Wesley's gaze, which was fastened on the slowly climbing speedometer. Cordelia sat in the backseat, idly flicking through a trade paper and occasionally humming along with the music that pumped through her walkman earphones loudly enough to contribute to Angel's already considerable edginess.  
  
"Sunnydale will still be there if it takes two hours to get there instead of one," Wesley said nervously, his foot jamming on an imaginary brake pedal as Angel screamed past the car in front and swung back into their lane, ignoring the blaring horn of an oncoming car.   
  
"Wes, I've been driving for nearly a century," Angel said calmly, not looking at the other man. "I tried some of the earliest cars when it was pretty much a case of trial and error, I have driven a wider variety of motor vehicles than you can probably name, and I have watched as cars got faster, simpler, and safer. To top off, I've spent the last year or so driving in L.A. I know what I'm doing."  
  
"Just please keep in mind that Cordelia and I can actually die," Wesley replied dryly.  
  
Angel shot him a brief glance, then returned his attention to the road. He eased his foot off the gas and the convertible slowed imperceptibly.  
  
"Thank you," Wesley breathed.  
  
"Why are you going so fast?" Cordy asked, tuning into the conversation, "I can't say I'm eager to be back in Sunnyhell."  
  
Angel looked at her in the mirror, habitually discounting that his own reflection did not appear in it.  
  
"Sooner we're there, the sooner we can leave," he said. Cordy raised an eyebrow at him in the mirror, letting him know that she was not convinced.  
  
"Giles said he'd grounded her," Wesley murmured mildly. "She's in no danger, you know."  
  
"Grounding Buffy may work in theory, Wes," Angel answered grimly, "but you were her Watcher for long enough to know that doesn't mean much in practice."  
  
"She knows what's at stake, Angel," Wesley reassured him. "She won't be out there."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"I should be out there," Buffy announced, prowling the back room of the shop restlessly.  
  
"No, Buffy," Giles said without looking up from the book he was studying.  
  
"No, Buffy," Willow reiterated, her eyes fixed on her computer.  
  
"But I'm the Slayer," Buffy protested futilely. "I Slay, therefore I am."  
  
"Well, tonight Xander and Riley are slaying therefore they... are," Willow said, wrinkling her nose. "Or something."  
  
"Just vampires," Buffy bargained hopefully. "I will avoid any and all demonic activity and look for fledglings only."  
  
"Fledglings count as demonic," Giles said, unruffled, "and you will fight neither tonight, Buffy."  
  
"But I feel the need to pummel," Buffy complained, feeling itchy and cooped up. She gave the dummy a half-hearted punch. It rocked and she absent-mindedly reached out to steady it.  
  
"Spike should be here soon," Willow offered.  
  
"But kindly leave the pummelling until *after* he has shared whatever information he's found," Giles said.  
  
"But before we pay him?" Buffy said with a half-smile, sitting on the floor and beginning a series of frenzied stretches.  
  
"What am I saying?" Giles muttered, "You can't pummel him at all. It's unfair."  
  
"Just 'cause he can't hit back," Buffy mumbled, going into a spontaneous routine of fluid, skilled gymnastic movements.  
  
"You're totally hyper tonight," Willow said, spinning her chair around to scrutinise her friend carefully. "Have you been eating dark chocolate again?"  
  
"No," Buffy said, modifying the martial technique she was engaged in to include a casual shrug.  
  
Willow eyed her dubiously for a few moments, then got up without warning and grabbed Buffy, ducking to miss the high snap-kick that Buffy was aiming at her own reflection.  
  
"Come on," she said, pulling Buffy onto the darkened shop floor.  
  
"Give a girl a chance!" Buffy complained, snagging a half-full bottle of water and shaking Willow off so she could remove the top and greedily swallow down the clear liquid.  
  
Willow positioned Buffy firmly against the counter and took her by the shoulders.  
  
"Is this about Angel?" she questioned, looking into Buffy's eyes.  
  
"He should be here by now, shouldn't he," Buffy said, the words spilling from her lips, "what if he's changed his mind, do you think..."  
  
Willow hastily grabbed the bottle away from her as Buffy's nervous, supernaturally strong fingers began to twist the plastic out of shape.  
  
"They're just a little bit late," Willow said, cutting off Buffy's babble. "They will be here. Are you going to tell him about your fatelines?" she asked.  
  
"I don't know," Buffy said, sighing. "I mean, he might not even care anymore. And there's Riley to think about." She looked at Willow mournfully. "I really do care about him, Will. It's not love, but... I don't want to hurt him."  
  
"You may not," Willow offered, fully seeing it as the poor comfort it was but unable to give more.  
  
"Maybe," Buffy said with a weak smile, "but I think we both know that it's not likely."  
  
"I think that if you..."  
  
"Been a magick shop for *years*," Willow was interrupted by Cordelia's authorative tones as she pushed, "but I never figured Giles for an... oh. You're here." She was plainly not delighted to see Buffy and Willow, throwing a thin smile their way. Buffy looked on with an unwilling stab in her heart as Cordy's gaze tracked immediately to Angel, watching him anxiously, caringly, almost the way she and Angel had once looked at each other. Cordelia moved, more obviously than she realised, to stand at Angel's side; Wesley also unconsciously moved to flank him.  
  
And then Buffy looked at Angel.  
  
Their gazes met, and he smiled at her politely; but her eyesight was the Slayer's and she read him well, and she caught the flash of heat, the flicker of a love undimmed, before his gaze shuttered, blanked, and he was an understandably awkward guy in a difficult situation. She knew he felt awkward, because he looked too big for the room around him, his tall form overpowering the surroundings; the skill to utilise that or equally hide it was something he had mastered long ago.  
  
"Wesley did call," Angel said, directing the comment at Buffy with a tentative half-smile and a casual shrug. Cordelia, Willow and Wesley shot him slightly bewildered looks, and part of Buffy thrilled at the familiar feeling of having a connection with him, knowing that she and only she knew what was on his mind.  
  
"And maybe if you were better on the phone, he wouldn't have had to," Cordelia said teasingly, brushing past him with an affectionate knock on the shoulder - and the feeling withered in Buffy as she was reminded that she didn't know what was on his mind anymore; hardly knew his mind at all.  
  
"Angel, Wesley, Cordelia," Giles said in a welcoming tone, coming through from the back at the sound of new voices, "I trust you had a good journey?"  
  
"Angel tried to splatter us on the road," Cordelia said lightly.  
  
"There is nothing wrong with my driving," Angel protested.  
  
Cordelia heaved a sigh. "There's nothing wrong with his driving," she said to Giles.  
  
"Thank you," Angel said.  
  
"It's just his car is a heap of junk," she finished as if he hadn't spoken.  
  
"That car is a classic," Angel grumbled, "and it's okay whenever you want to get to an audition or want to go shopping or have other needs you couldn't *possibly* use the subway for."  
  
He was obviously mimicking her and Giles hid a smile. "Would you like to come through?" he said, stepping away from the doorway to usher them through.  
  
"Well, maybe if you paid me enough to buy my own car I wouldn't have to use yours," he heard Cordelia say behind him.  
  
"I will never make enough to pay for the kind of car you like," Angel retorted.  
  
"What kind of car does he have?" Willow hissed to Buffy.  
  
"It's a big, black, convertible... well, heap of junk, kind of," Buffy whispered back.  
  
"I heard that!" Angel said.  
  
"It's a classic," Wesley confirmed, gallantly standing aside to allow the women to go in before him. His gaze met Giles', standing on the other side of the door, and they shared a long-suffering smile. Giles was surprised by the other (former) Watcher's manner - he had grown in confidence, it seemed, fallen into a comfortable relationship with Angel and Cordelia. Giles was surprised to find himself quite liking the man.  
  
"Nice room," Angel said, impressed, his gaze roaming slowly around the training area.  
  
"Gift from the gang," Buffy said, putting an arm around Willow and hugging her proudly.  
  
"You're doing okay with the hunting?" he said, leaning on the horse and looking at her probingly, his voice becoming taut.  
  
"Best ever," she said, ignoring the way that the mirror behind the horse showed no-one.  
  
"Yes, she's doing very well," Giles called from where he stood quietly conferring with Wesley. "She has been lacking for a sparring partner, though. Perhaps while you're here, you could...?"  
  
"Sure," he said, his gaze never leaving Buffy. "Doesn't Riley train with you?"  
  
Buffy flinched at the mention of her boyfriend. Right. Boyfriend, she thought. Which Angel is not.  
  
"Riley's kind of in a delicate condition right now," Willow said. "Heart troubles. Had to put a chip in him. Very nasty."  
  
"Willow!" Buffy said, dismayed that her friend was being so uncharacteristically indiscreet. "Angel and Cordelia don't want to hear about that."  
  
"Oh, we do," Cordelia said with relish, remembering the tale Angel had told her about Buffy's new boytoy. "Is it something permanently debilitating?"  
  
"Cordelia," Angel said warningly.  
  
"Don't pretend you're not interested," Cordy said, wagging a finger at him.  
  
He grabbed the finger. "Don't pretend you're not expecting to get paid this month."  
  
"That threat would work better if I didn't do all the accounts and sort out my own pay," Cordelia told him.  
  
"You do the accounts?" Willow said, wrinkling up her nose.  
  
"Yes," Cordelia said, annoyed. "Top ten percent of our class, remember? If Angel was in charge of finances, he'd never do any actual charging."  
  
"Cordy, please," Angel said tiredly, "we're in company." It was clearly an old gripe of hers.  
  
"These," Cordelia said disdainfully, gesturing to the room in general, "are not company. Unless of course you're planning to charge them for all this."  
  
"Of course not," he said.  
  
"Not even gas?" she asked.  
  
"Not even gas," he replied.  
  
Cordy turned abruptly to Buffy, "Is this not an evil fighting thing?"  
  
"Uh, yeah, it is," Buffy said, a little taken aback.  
  
"And are you not in trouble?" she demanded.  
  
"Well, I suppose I could be, if..."  
  
"Ah!" Cordelia said triumphantly. "So you are, in a manner of speaking, helpless?"  
  
"I suppose?" Buffy said hopelessly.  
  
"Grounds for charging," Cordelia said, turning to Angel with satisfaction.  
  
"Slayers don't ever really classify as helpless," Angel said.  
  
"But-" Cordelia started.  
  
"We are not charging for this one, Cordy," Angel said firmly.  
  
"And *that* attitude is why we will never get heavily into profit," Cordelia said.  
  
"I just need enough to live on," Angel muttered, running a hand through his hair.  
  
"So do me and Wes," Cordelia retorted, "and we need more than you do."  
  
"So do I," said a weary British accent from the door, "so can you pay me and I'll be on my way?"  
  
"You have to give us the information first, Spike," Buffy said, standing up straight as the platinum blond sauntered slowly into the room, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag.  
  
"*Not* in the shop, Spike," Giles admonished uselessly.  
  
Spike ignored him, coming to a stop in front of Angel. Buffy noticed Angel's hands clenched into fists at his sides, caught the tension that suddenly ran through his body, matched in Spike's as Angel pulled his back out of his habitual slouch, staring down into Spike's eyes, giving and getting a palpable hostility.  
  
Willow and Cordelia both drew slightly closer to Buffy, and Giles and Wesley didn't take their eyes off the pair, as if they all felt the room come under an unbearable pressure as the vampires faced off.  
  
Angel growled once, so low only Spike and Buffy heard it. She bit her lip and shifted uncomfortably as a very different tension ran through her body at the well-remembered sound. There was a moment when the pressure was so tight as to be almost audible; and then it lifted abruptly, Spike breaking the gaze in a slight movement that nevertheless was a complete capitulation. He stepped away from his one-time mentor and faced the rest of the room, as Giles came forward to take his report.  
  
Buffy stared at Angel, unable to tear her gaze away. As an alpha female she wasn't usually affected by rivalry between so-called dominant males... knowing she could probably kick *either* of their asses had always taken the interest out of watching the posturing of human boys. With vampires, it was different; there was something truly wild, thoroughly tangible about vampire rivalry that spoke to the dark parts inside her.   
  
It was real. It was dangerous.  
  
And when Angel was involved, she found, it was a turn-on.  
  
His eyes met hers from across the room, and though Buffy knew she should look away, his gaze was magnetic, seeming to pull the breath out of her in short pants; she licked her lips, and saw his eyes flicker down to watch the small pink tongue lave their full flesh, and she remembered how it felt for his lips to be on hers.  
  
She was distracted by repeated pokes in the soft flesh of her bared midriff. She tried to bat the hand away, but her wrist was gripped and, disoriented, she looked down.  
  
"Buffy," Willow was saying.  
  
"Yeah, what?" she said irritably, annoyed that her communion with Angel had been disrupted.  
  
"I need you out here," Willow said forcefully, dragging Buffy out by the wrist.  
  
"Aaah!" Buffy squawked, stumbling and saving herself only with a quick application of Slayer reflexes.   
  
Willow stopped by the counter and turned to regard her friend.  
  
"What?" Buffy said, fidgeting. She turned around, trying to unobtrusively crane her neck to see Angel.  
  
"Buffy!" Willow said, exasperated. She reached forward and put her hand on Buffy's forehead. "You're really warm."  
  
"Am I?" Buffy said vaguely.  
  
"Yes! Stop trying to look for Angel."  
  
"I wasn't!" Buffy protested, turning quickly to face her friend, who gave her a sceptical look.  
  
"I seriously thought you were going to jump each other in there," Willow said. "I mean, you weren't even like that when you were a couple!"  
  
"I know!" Buffy wailed. "But I think I've had a sexual awakening since then. And some of my Sarah dreams were pretty hot."  
  
Willow looked at Buffy for a moment more.  
  
"You're in trouble," she said, in a voice that rang with conviction.  
  
Buffy groaned and dropped her head onto Willow's shoulder.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Angel tried to smother a grin and pay attention to Giles' attempt at conversation with Spike, rather than being fixed on Buffy... he could still smell the scent of vanilla and light sweat mixed with the unique, indescribable tang that said 'Buffy', permeating the air around her. He could feel her personality stamped on the walls around him. He could still see her hazel eyes burning into his own.  
  
And Riley Finn wasn't around for him to see how she'd no doubt similarly made her impression on him. Angel knew she wasn't his any longer, but he'd caught her reaction to him and he figured, if only from that, he had legitimate cause to pretend for a while.  
  
"Look, they're not common, okay?" Spike's angry English tones were enough to unwillingly pull Angel from his thoughts. "It was all I could get."  
  
"Why do you even bother?" Cordelia said, leaning against a wall. She arched one perfect eyebrow. "We could have got this stuff before we left L.A."  
  
"Sometimes I wonder," Giles said, looking aggravatedly at Spike.  
  
"They can't bear the thought of not having me around," Spike said sarcastically, taking out another cigarette and lighting it from the butt of the last. He didn't usually chain-smoke - not only because he couldn't afford to - but all these people, his sire among them no less, were wearing on him. If he wasn't trying to outgrow this sudden obsession with the Slayer...  
  
"To recap," Wesley said, his gaze on Spike watchfully. It had originally taken him weeks to tolerate Angel; he wasn't going to let his soulless progeny in so easily. "Desuin demons have been considered to be the favoured assassins of the Old Ones."  
  
Spike gave a sulky nod.  
  
"Your sources say there isn't currently one in town," he continued. Spike nodded again. "Despite Mr. Finn having been attacked by one," Wesley said, doubt suffusing his tone.  
  
"Thinking he saw one," Spike said, "I wouldn't put a misidentification past him."  
  
Wesley waved away the small concern. He didn't know either Spike's sources or Riley Finn, but he instinctively chose to side with the human's story. Though given much of human behaviour, he thought, he might come to regret that decision.  
  
"The individual apparently most pertinent has, or had, a mission to kill the strongest Slayers," Wesley finished.  
  
"Right," Spike said. "Cough up."  
  
"I want to check..." Wesley began, then realised that the silence behind him had become distinctly uncomfortable. He turned around, to see Buffy standing in the doorway. She looked considerably better than Willow, who was clutching the doorpost hard enough for her knuckles to be white.  
  
"Strongest Slayers?" Buffy said calmly. "Well, at least I know I'm not going to get taken down by something Giles can't be proud of in the records."  
  
"You're not going to get taken down," Angel said quietly, shifting on the wall; their eyes met again, without the heat of before, but rather the assured, resigned calm of old fighters. Still communion, but on a different level.  
  
"I'll hold you to that," she said matter-of-factly. Then she turned back to Spike, all business. "It's flattering and all, but on balance I'd prefer to keep my pulse. How do I kill it?"  
  
"Oh, yeah," Spike said, bitterly resenting Angel for having a connection to the Slayer despite willfully trying to sever it. "That's the kicker, pet. You apparently can't."  
  
* * * * *  



	10. Part 9

"Any kind of information we can get will be useful," Giles told Wesley, "even if we can't find out about Sarah, David's impressions of the Slaying lifestyle then could prove to be valuable... an outsider's viewpoint often tells us more than those closest to an issue."  
  
"It appears that he was quite close to the issue," Wesley pointed out, following Giles into the kitchen doggedly, "and I think, given that Angel is provenly difficult to hypnotise, your energies are best served taking him straight to that time."  
  
"With Buffy I found it easier to take her back through..."  
  
Angel, forgotten, trailed in behind the (former) Watchers, taking in his surroundings. Giles' apartment was largely unchanged; some different ornaments, perhaps, a few more books. Nothing to suggest that Angel wasn't a part of any of it anymore; though he admitted to himself he never really had been. He noticed a picture of the core Scoobies sitting on a shelf and wandered over to look at it - a rumpled Willow, Xander and Giles around an equally untidy Buffy, all dirty and tired but smiling, pulled in close. His eyes lingered on Buffy for a moment. He could almost sense her vibrancy just from the flat, lifeless photograph, as he had so many times in the last year.  
  
"Just after our yearly explosion," Willow's voice came from behind him. "It's actually becoming a worrying tradition."  
  
Angel turned around quickly, embarrassed to have been caught staring at the picture. Willow's gaze was understanding and he relaxed into her friendly demeanour and smiled at her.  
  
"What did you blow up?"  
  
"The Initiative..." off his blank look, Willow hastened to explain. "Riley's soldier guys? Turned out to be bad guys."  
  
"But Riley..."  
  
"Was clean," she said without inflection. She appreciated Angel's desire to know about the other man - who was his rival, though all of them would pretend, had been pretending, he was Angel's replacement. She thought it was in about equal parts needing to know he'd left Buffy to something, someone, good and being desperate to find out something that tarnished that spotlessness. She'd never figured Angel, with his truckload of guilt, for a big self-esteem guy, but it made her figure him as human.  
  
"Convenient," Angel offered with a humourless smile.  
  
Willow declined to answer that. Since the spell, she'd felt desperately sorry for all the people caught in the warped triangle - Angel and Buffy, flung together by history and kept apart by circumstance, and Riley, the would-be true love kept outside; everything Buffy wanted, if Buffy wanted anything except Angel.  
  
"Hear you kept the tradition alive yourself," she teased, realising too late and then hoping it wasn't a sore subject.  
  
"Oh yeah, I did my part," he said, smiling. "It was a good building, though."  
  
"But you're in a hotel!" she said, "Cordy said it was huge and, um... 'not too bad looking, for an old place'."  
  
"And then she said it was perfect for me because I'm not too bad looking for an old guy?" Angel said with a full-fledged grin. Willow blushed. Cordy *had* added a similar rider. "It's okay," he said, "she told me so. Anyway, she was just wild for anywhere that got us out of her apartment."  
  
"Yeah, she told me about her apartment," Willow said, "and her ghost."  
  
"Hey, her ghost's a great guy," Angel said, only half joking.  
  
"A wonderful personality," Wesley's cut-glass tones chipped in from behind, "but if we could begin, please?"  
  
"But we were waiting..." Willow began to protest.  
  
"Sure," Angel said. He winked at her, cutely if uncharacteristically, and went to lie uncomfortably on the couch, as it barely accommodated his large frame. Giles and Wesley took up places either side of his head, and Willow sat nearby; she had requested to be included in the group, partly to see more of the hypnosis techniques which had fascinated her, but mostly to hear more about the story of Sarah and David which had touched her.  
  
"Now, try to relax," Giles began, pitching his voice to be as calming as possible, "my voice is..."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Are you sure you have to go?" Riley said teasingly, propping himself up and nuzzling Buffy's neck as she sat on the side of the bed. She giggled and left off dressing for a moment to meld her lips with his for a slow kiss.  
  
"You know I have to," she said, brushing a wayward strand of hair off his face, "busy time, remember?"  
  
"Oh, I know," he said, unable to keep the silly grin from his face. "But the nightmares have stopped."  
  
"No more dreams," she agreed, her smile dimming slightly, then returning. "I guess you wore me out," she added slyly.  
  
"Likewise," he said, flopping contentedly back into the bed. Buffy had been particularly affectionate the night before, lavishing an unfamiliar, unbridled passion on him... he had slipped into sleep aching pleasurably, newly secure in her arms and in their relationship; having seen Angel, she had come back to him.  
  
If he had woken to an empty bed and she was leaving to attend the vampire's hypnosis session, what of it?  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy opened Giles' door gingerly, afraid of knocking or entering too loudly lest she disturb Angel in his hypnotised state. She could hear faint voices. As she crept in they cleared, becoming Giles' frustrated tones mingled with Wesley chattering stridently, rather than Angel's voice, perhaps subtly changed, and Giles' soft questions, as she had expected.  
  
"...At it for nearly an hour and he's just not..." she heard before Willow noticed her and jumped up, hurrying over and pulling her aside, which seemed to be happening a lot lately, Buffy noted wryly.  
  
"They can't get him under," the witch confided in a stage whisper, over the sound of Giles trying the hypnotism once again. "Giles and Wes are getting more and more annoyed and Angel's getting more and more quiet, I think he feels bad that he can't..."  
  
They were interrupted by a throaty groan from the couch.  
  
"Angel?" Giles said in surprise, turning quickly around to face the prone man again.  
  
"Michael," came the slow, slightly confused, British-accented reply, "Michael Woolf, Watcher."  
  
"Goddess," Willow murmured in awe. Her mind worked quickly, and she stared at the Slayer, who was already across the room and kneeling rapt at Angel's side, her eyes fixed on his face, eyes screwed tightly shut as he fell into their past.  
  
Her gaze ticked over to Wesley, who was also up and rapidly scouring the bookshelves.  
  
"What year is it?" Giles asked, trying to keep his voice calm and not betray the excitement he felt, both at the success of the hypnotism and actual contact with an early Watcher; sacked he may be, but he had trained as a Watcher for twenty years, and was still functioning in the position (albeit sadly and unjustly unpaid) and he couldn't help but view this new life of Angel's as an opportunity.  
  
"The year of Our Lord 1599," was the answer, and Giles flicked a look over his shoulder to check Wesley had heard. The other man was standing with the appropriate volume in his hands, skimming the pages; after a moment, he looked up and gave Giles a significant nod. 'He's real.' Giles gave a small, smug smile to himself; he'd known he was more likely to be successful than Wesley.  
  
Giles took the book Wesley offered, page carefully held open, and scanned for the entry, keeping half his attention on Angel, who was fidgeting restlessly on the sofa.  
  
WOOLF, MICHAEL 1564-1621: (he read) Second generation Watcher 1590-1600, no Slayer, Byzantine era weaponry expert, discharged for liason with married Watcher (see SMITH, VICTORIA).  
  
Giles looked carefully at the picture accompanying the short text; a stocky, smiling, dark-haired man bearing very little resemblance to Angel as he knew him. Until he looked at the eyes of the portrait; skillfully rendered by the Watchers Council's artists, they were a deep, soulful (he absently noted the inopportune pun) brown, and to see their doubles - their alternate, it occured to him - he had only to look up.  
  
He did so, and noticed the blonde head bent close to Angel's. She was leaning affectionately, almost protectively, over his chest, her hand resting there softly, as if Woolf's heartbeat had returned to Angel's body along with his consciousness. He lay quiet and comfortable, lips slightly upturned at the corners, head turned to hers as if he sensed her presence, his eyes still closed, though now relaxed.  
  
He flipped the pages until he found the entry he was looking for; Victoria Smith. He ignored the summary of her life - wondering for an ironic moment exactly what his own would say, if they included him at all - for the picture of an elegant, serene (natural) blonde. Again, nothing at all to suggest her spirit, or vestiges of it, might one day occupy the preternatural body before him, but he hardly had to look at her eyes to know that to see *their* twins, Buffy would have to turn around.  
  
He shook off his reverie for another, more convenient time and devoted his attention to Angel/Michael, wracking his brains for a suitable line of questioning - they had prepared a list to ask 'David', but hadn't thought that other, equally fascinating, lives might come to the forefront first. Or at all, if he was honest.  
  
"Where do you live, Michael?" Over the back of the couch, he could see Willow slap herself on the forehead and roll her eyes to the ceiling in mock horror. Faintly irritated, Giles indicated to her that she was welcome to continue the questions, and she quickly stopped, but came to sit by him anyway, positioning herself so she could see both Angel and Buffy.  
  
"London," he said tersely. "And you would be?"  
  
"Rupert Giles, Watcher," Giles said, caught by surprise and answering almost without thinking. When he did think, he decided he probably could have said better, because now undoubtedly Woolf would wonder...  
  
"I haven't heard of you," Angel said, his tone laced with suspicion, "where are you based?"  
  
"I'm, uh, relatively new," Giles said lamely, looking desperately around at his unhelpful audience. "Based in..."  
  
"Paris," Wesley said from behind him.  
  
"Ah, part of the new Slayer's team," Angel said agreeably, "she is doing well?"  
  
Giles gestured to Wesley, who whispered, "Chantalle. Fourteen years old. Watcher is Harold Taylor."  
  
"Chantalle is faring quite well, for one Called so young," Giles said smoothly. "Her training is proceeding as expected, Harold is very pleased."  
  
"Maybe *you* should ask *him* some questions now?" Willow hissed. "Before he figures you're completely not who you say you are?"  
  
"Yes, thank you, Willow," Giles said sarcastically. "I'm rather at a loss, to tell you the truth. We were expecting to hear from David."  
  
"You still can," Buffy said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and fixing Giles with a pleading look. "Just find out some about this guy first? Please?"  
  
He looked back at her for a long moment, seeing the need on her face, wide open and vulnerable, those eyes holding the slightest threat of damp. He could not refuse her, and though he felt that getting close to Angel again - he wasn't unaware of the information Willow had found out, and neither was he blind to what it represented to Buffy - would not be wise, considering the circumstances, he wasn't sure forcing them apart at this time would be either.  
  
He flipped the book back over to the entry on Victoria Smith and held it out to her. After a slight hesitation, she took it, hiding her face behind a curtain of blonde strands as she reluctantly released Angel's hand and took the volume over to sit on the arm of Willow's chair and share it with her.  
  
Giles also wasn't blind to the matching reluctance in Angel to release her.  
  
He sat quietly for a moment, ignoring Angel's insistent fidgeting beside him. He watched Buffy as she read the few lines, flipped over the pages and read Woolf's, scrutinising the portrait, showing no emotion until Willow murmured something to her and she broke into a dazzling smile before answering.  
  
Scooting back over to Giles on her knees, she handed back the book then resumed her place close by Angel, without touching him. Still, her presence seemed to calm him and he lay still once more.  
  
"Can you ask him about her?" Buffy asked hopefully. Which her she referred to was obvious.  
  
"I can try," Giles said doubtfully, "but I don't know whether he'll tell me anything... he's probably used to keeping it a secret."  
  
"I think he'll talk," Willow said with certainty; her eyes met Giles', rested on Buffy over the Slayer's head, and then moved back to focus on Giles. The unspoken message - 'at least while Buffy's here' - was clear, and Giles gave a slight nod, conveying his agreement. Willow gave a satisfied smile and leaned back, waiting for the questions to begin.  
  
"Start slow," Buffy directed, her gaze locked avidly on Angel's relaxed features, almost boyish in rest.  
  
Fine. Giles cleared his throat, wondering privately where to start, and more importantly, how much information he wanted to hear... Buffy and Angel's tortured romance he had witnessed, Sarah and David's sweet, naive relationship he had enjoyed learning of, but a pair that were essentially Buffy and Angel themselves, only adults - Watchers, no less - in a different time period; there was something inherently more disturbing about that thought. Signs of his 'father's affection' for Buffy, he supposed: lovely as the thought of her grown was, given her life expectancy, it was also somewhat upsetting, though she had already grown away from him and returned of her own accord.  
  
"Do you socialise with other Watchers much?" he asked.  
  
"That's gonna be really slow, Giles," Buffy muttered reprovingly, but he could tell that her heart and attention weren't in it.  
  
"Some," Angel said, his voice guarded. "Many Watchers live in London, and naturally we spend time together."  
  
"Such as Victoria Smith?" Giles asked simply, diving straight in.  
  
"Whereas that is far *too* fast," Buffy remarked acidly.  
  
"It was rather clumsy," Wesley offered. He was oblivious to the backstory of this Michael Woolf and Victoria Smith and why Buffy was so eager to hear their tale, but given their reason for being in Sunnydale, he could make an educated guess: if Buffy and Angel had shared at least one life apart from this one, it was not beyond the realm of possibility that they could have shared another, or many others.  
  
"*Mrs.* Smith is one such Watcher, yes," Angel said, pointedly emphasising the respectful prefix.  
  
"And her husband?" Giles said probingly.  
  
"Away for much of the year," Angel snapped. "He is an authority on a vampire Bloodline which is becoming powerful across Europe. He is with a team studying them until the Slayer is deemed fit enough to successfully challenge them."  
  
Giles arched an eyebrow in surprise; he hadn't expected Woolf to give away so much with so little lead-in. He could safely assume the affair had already started, then, but he knew better than to expect that would be admitted so easily.  
  
"Does she find it difficult to be away from him for so long?" Giles asked, half-hoping to provoke some sort of jealous response.  
  
"I wouldn't know," Angel said, but Giles marked a slight hesitation and the tone slipped a little, taking on an almost Cockney lilt which surprised both Giles and Wesley behind him. The Council was very particular about the position of those it allowed into its hallowed ranks; one reason, he thought, why they had lost touch so much with the world, and the Slayer herself.  
  
"It seems kind of tacky, that we were having an affair," Buffy said to Willow, a little sadly. She knew that their love wasn't without problems, but to have it only with the tarnish of secrecy and hiding seemed to make it almost... impure. She wondered bitterly if she and Angel had been granted any lives fully, freely together; if they ever would be granted that.  
  
"Don't you think it says a lot about how strong your love is?" Willow asked, her face lit up with a touching, infectious enthusiasm. "To risk having an affair back in those times... I'm pretty sure it just wasn't *done*. They must have really wanted to be together."  
  
Buffy smiled at her gratefully. "Maybe." Willow had almost always been her most staunch defender when it came to she and Angel. She had to admit, when Willow threw herself into supporting something, she stood behind it.  
  
"Don't you think she gets lonely?" Giles was asking Angel, as unaggressively as he could.  
  
"I don't know!" Angel said defensively. "Why are you so interested in Victoria? She is unlikely to ever visit Paris."  
  
Giles pounced. "Victoria?"  
  
Angel paused.  
  
Buffy slid back onto her knees beside him.  
  
"It's her name," he offered weakly.  
  
"Not to you," Giles pointed out triumphantly.  
  
There was another silence, and Giles felt an inexplicable pang of remorse. This was a dead man, he reminded himself. It wouldn't bother Angel, locked somewhere inside. Perhaps that was the problem; Giles had learned, forced himself, to forgive Angel for Angelus' crimes, could talk and plan and accept the man, but a small part of himself - the Ripper he controlled so fiercely - experienced a rush of visceral pleasure at seeing Angel so discomforted. Or maybe his reaction was to only do with Buffy, biting her lip and sidling closer to Angel, her gaze riveted onto his subtly altered face, attuned to his every word, and simply how it was bothering *her*.  
  
"What do you want?" Angel asked finally.   
  
Giles was surprised. "Want?"  
  
"My dismissal cannot possibly have any effect on the standing of any in Paris. Neither Victoria's," Angel clarified.  
  
"You admit then?" Giles said, choosing his words with care, "to your..."  
  
"Love," Angel said firmly, and a brilliant, unbidden smile came to his lips. It disappeared just as suddenly, but both Giles and Willow noted how it was fleetingly answered and outshone by Buffy's.  
  
"How long has your liaison been going on?" Giles said, realising from the dark expression that crossed Angel's face his mistake of assuming intimacy. He cursed the shock at being asked for identification which had caused him to begin the charade of being a medieval Watcher; the brief trust it had gained him wasn't worth Woolf's suspicion now.  
  
"I don't appreciate these questions," Angel said stiffly, "and I must reiterate, why are you asking them?"  
  
"Um..." Giles said, stumbling badly. He couldn't even think of any reason that wouldn't be interpreted by the man as some form of spying by the Council. He looked around.  
  
Inspiration failed to come from the walls, neat rows of books, Willow, or Wesley.  
  
It was provided by Buffy.  
  
"Say something," he instructed her in a low whisper, hoping that Angel's vampire hearing would not translate to Woolf's consciousness.  
  
"Like what?" Buffy protested, also keeping her voice quiet. "Hi, I'm the reincarnation of your dead mistress? I might not even sound like her."  
  
"Well, I wouldn't say his dead mistress," Willow said helpfully, leaning forward, "but Giles is obviously lost, so it's worth a try."  
  
Buffy glared at them both, then took a deep breath and leaned forward, over Angel, concentrating on him. A heady exultation ran through her, both at being so close to his prone (technically helpless, laying ready for... down, girl) body and at the prospect of learning more about the past lives that were fast becoming an obsession.  
  
If he accepted her as this Victoria. And yet, she had no doubt but that he would; if she was his soulmate, and he hers, then they would recognise each other anywhere. As Michael, he would simply identify her as his love, and with that, as Victoria. She knew it before she even opened her mouth. She'd felt the coiled tension in his muscles, the quiet urgency in him, the sharp, jingling nerves of his body, and known he was reacting to her presence how she had to his, halfway down the stairs to the courtyard of Giles' home.  
  
"Michael," she said softly, fighting down the urge to simply whisper in his ear, to hide from the others in the room, keep their love jealously close to herself.  
  
"Victoria," he said, almost joyfully. As Buffy felt the smug pleasure of her proved certainty, she was taken by surprise as he reached up, curved a large, gentle hand around her neck, and pulled her face down to his for their lips to meet in an unbelievably sweet kiss.  
  
* * * * *  



	11. Part 10

Riley strolled into the Magic Box, ready to find Buffy and treat her   
to an impromptu lunch, just to show her how very comfortable he was   
in her affections. The hypnosis was surely finished by now; all they   
needed was one little piece of information, and then Angel would have   
returned to... wherever it was he was sleeping, probably to prepare   
to leave that very night, now that his job was done.  
  
Not that Angel's presence bothered him or anything.  
  
"She's still at Giles'," Anya said, barely looking up from where she   
lovingly counted out the day's profits. "They're all at Giles'. I   
expect extra pay."  
  
Riley almost felt himself deflate... then he remembered the wild   
night he'd passed in Buffy's bed, and felt better. Apart from the   
lingering ache of where she'd dug her nails deep into his back,   
arching against him, her eyes closed with pleasure. She'd had her   
eyes closed most of the time, actually, if he recalled right. Then,   
she often did.  
  
"Are you expecting them back soon?" he asked hopefully. "Except for   
Angel, of course."  
  
"Where's the of course?" a playful voice said behind him. "Angel's   
really good at getting around during the day."  
  
He turned around to see Angel's brunette assistant standing in the   
doorway through to the back, holding her hands gingerly so as not to   
damage the nail polish she'd just applied - she still held the   
bottle - and looking at him with an amused, patronising expression on   
her face.  
  
He was irked with the condescending vibes that leaked out of her   
whole stance, never mind comment. He knew this girl - Cordelia - had   
gone to school with Buffy, so she was younger than he was.  
  
She interrupted his thought with the slow arch of one perfect eyebrow   
and mocking, breathy comment: "Angel's very... practised."  
  
Riley bristled.  
  
Cordelia turned back into the other room and smirked to herself.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Do they *have* to get him off Michael?" Buffy said regretfully. "I   
liked Michael."  
  
"Time's a-wastin'," Willow said perkily, coming out into the   
courtyard and handing the sitting Buffy a cup of hot coffee.  
  
"I don't see why I couldn't stay in there," Buffy complained half-  
heartedly, her lips curving in a secret, satisfied smile. She knew   
exactly why.  
  
"You were proving a distraction," Willow remonstrated drolly. "You   
can go back when he's in a stable time again."  
  
"Are they going for David?" Buffy said, her smile slipping a notch.   
She didn't want to die, and if for that she had to hear an account of   
another death of hers, fine... but she didn't particularly want to   
hear *Angel's* account, have to hear the anguish she knew   
instinctively would colour his tone and his heart.  
  
She didn't want him to wake up and remember that pain, which he might   
or might not be experiencing again soon. Even if she did die - which   
she wouldn't, because that would just be too careless, after all   
this, she told herself strongly - she wasn't sure if he would grieve   
that much again. She knew that she would, if he were to die now.   
She knew that the love she thought she had pushed firmly to the back   
of her mind to be forgotten had simply simmered there to be   
acknowledged. She thought he felt the same: but she was unsure of   
her ability to predict him now, and even the weight of their lengthy   
history - a welcome burden - didn't serve to reassure her.  
  
"I think they were going to try," Willow said, her doubtful tone   
making it clear she wasn't positive of the chances of their   
success. "I think they'll get side-tracked somewhere, though. His   
memories seem to be popping up from whenever they like."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Peanut butter and chocolate," Angel said, a lusty, contented grin   
playing around his lips. "Have you ever tried that? It's great."   
His brow furrowed. "It's not so great now. Vampire tastebuds are   
more geared to blood products. Well, exclusively geared to blood   
products. But a lot of stuff is different when you're a vampire.   
When I'm a vampire."  
  
Giles and Wesley shared looks of... what? Giles wasn't certain that   
he knew exactly what any of them were feeling. When Angel had   
fixated on what he referred to wistfully as 'the lost day', he'd   
continued trying to get through to David until Wesley had stopped   
him, realising what Angel was talking about was a day from his own   
long existence. When Giles had realised what that day was, what it   
meant, he'd waited impatiently for Angel's rambling to end, having   
spilled enough for him to get an idea, and then begun probing for   
details (though not *too* many details, as he had a suspicion he   
would find them unsalubrious to say the least), always mindful of   
Buffy's presence outside.  
  
He could approximate what he was feeling: shock, not only that this   
had happened but that it was possible, amazement and grudging respect   
that Angel had given up a chance of human life to take a chance on   
Buffy's, sorrow for the vampire and for his own charge, without Angel   
or the memories.  
  
He was, however, almost certain in his own mind that Angel had made   
the correct choice. Buffy was better off not knowing what she had   
lost, what she had had taken from her; he knew full well how she   
hated having decisions made for her (unless she'd altered in that in   
the long time since he'd dared try, but he doubted that).  
  
And so he would honour Angel's desires and refrain from mentioning   
the new information he had learnt, the information he felt sure would   
only hurt her. Not even hypnosis could return those memories to   
Buffy.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"At least it's let Giles and Wesley have something concrete to argue   
about," Buffy said, "I couldn't have taken more of like when Wes was   
my Watcher."  
  
"I don't think you would've," Willow said thoughtfully. "He's   
changed a lot."  
  
"That's my Angel," Buffy said, leaning back and sifting her hand   
through the soil of the centrepiece plants. "Changes everyone he   
comes into contact with."  
  
"Yeah," Willow said softly, watching Buffy's actions with   
sympathy. "Do you want to talk about it now?"  
  
"What?" Buffy said, feigning perplexity, though she knew perfectly   
well what about: the kiss. The tender, mind-blowing, knee-wobbling   
kiss that had been bestowed on her with Michael's mind and Angel's   
lips with their sure, undimmed knowledge of her own.  
  
"You know," Willow said chidingly. Then she laughed. "We're having   
a lot of these conversations lately, aren't we?"  
  
"Well, it saves on therapy," Buffy teased, realising they had.  
  
She'd shared more with her best friend about she and Angel over the   
last week than she had about a whole year with Riley.  
  
"Was it nice?" Willow said with charming innocence. She leaned back   
with Buffy, preparing for some girl talk.  
  
"It was nice," Buffy confirmed with a shy grin. "Nice doesn't cover   
it. The only part that wasn't nice was the bruised ankle." She shot   
a wry look at Willow, who shrugged artlessly.  
  
"I thought Giles was about to hyperventilate," she explained. "I   
don't think he's seen your tongue in that context before."  
  
"Eeuw," Buffy exclaimed. "I guess I was in the moment."  
  
She lapsed into silence.  
  
"And when you were out of the moment?" Willow prompted, knowing what   
was coming.  
  
"I don't screw around on a guy," Buffy declared. "I just don't.   
It's in my code. You know the code?"  
  
"Mine says looking is okay, but no touching," Willow offered.  
  
"Yeah," Buffy said, sitting straight and examining her dirty   
fingernails pensively. "So I've gone against my code, and I feel..."  
  
"Horrible," Willow said, remembering all too well how she'd felt when   
she'd looked at *and* touched Xander and feeling sorry for Buffy,   
whose normal worries were, yet again, mixed inextricably with the   
supernatural.  
  
"Right."  
  
"You do have some extenuating circumstances," Willow said.  
  
"I have some extenuating circumstances for the circumstances of being   
kissed," Buffy corrected glumly. "I have none for having kissed   
back."  
  
"Then you have to think about why you kissed back," Willow said,   
having a pretty good idea of Buffy's reasons and wondering whether   
Buffy would admit them to herself.   
  
"Because it was so great to be kissing Angel again," Buffy said.  
  
"Then you have to talk to Riley," Willow said quietly.  
  
"I know," Buffy said.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"We've contacted David," Wesley announced proudly, opening the door   
to Giles' apartment and beckoning the two girls in.  
  
"Any more lives?" Buffy asked over her shoulder, almost throwing   
herself towards the door. Wesley stepped aside for her, an amused,   
uncomfortable smile playing around his lips.  
  
"No," he said, and only Willow was able to hear his muttered   
qualifier of, "no new ones, anyway." She resolved to pull he or   
Giles over later and find out what was going on with that.  
  
"... The most beautiful woman I've ever had privilege to see," Angel   
was saying, wistfully, his hands gripping and twisting as much of the   
soft couch as he could.  
  
"This is going to give Buffy a swelled head," Willow hissed to Wesley.  
  
"Quite possibly," Wesley said, "David appears to be even more -   
taken - with Sarah than Angel with Buffy."  
  
"He still loves her, huh?" Willow said. She didn't really need   
telling, but she thought Wesley's insights, as someone who actually   
lived alongside Angel, could be... not useful, exactly. Interesting.  
  
"He's here, isn't he?" Wesley said quietly.  
  
"Yeah, but that could have been because of... soul saving, right?   
That's what Cordy said."  
  
"This constitutes considerably more than soul saving to Angel,"   
Wesley said reprovingly.  
  
"So he hasn't had any lady friends?" Willow said, grinning.  
  
The exasperated look Wesley gave her was answer enough.  
  
"You patrol with her?" Giles said across the room, his voice raised   
in affected surprise.  
  
"Yes," Angel said defensively. "Why not?"  
  
"You're human," Giles said prosaically, "a danger to her."  
  
"Did he have any trouble getting David to answer his questions?"   
Willow hissed at Wesley.  
  
"No," he hissed back. "Woolf seems to have been a singularly   
suspicious incarnation of Angel."  
  
"I am *not* a danger to her," Angel said loudly. "I wouldn't do   
anything that might hurt her."  
  
Buffy chewed on her lip. She believed him without reservation; none   
of Angel's incarnations - unless Angelus was counted as one - would   
purposely try to hurt her; do anything other than that which they   
thought would safeguard her well-being and protect her. David, in   
particular, had come from a time when a strong woman would have been   
even stranger, and his feelings were natural. And yet she knew that   
David had often proved more a hindrance than a help; knew from   
Sarah's memories, and from her own experiences with Riley post-drugs.  
  
"You have fighting skills?" Giles said.  
  
"Some," Angel said. "Swordsmanship, naturally. Association with   
Sarah has taught me hand-to-hand. And a healthy relationship with a   
wooden stake."  
  
"Is she usually successful?" Giles asked, trying to lead up to asking   
about the Desuin. He was stalling; it had occurred to him when this   
venture was proposed that he might (would) find it painful, but he   
hadn't realised just how much. In a way, as he was Buffy's Watcher,   
so he was Sarah's - ridiculous really, as he had his suspicions where   
he'd been in that life of Buffy's and it was as Watcher's companion   
rather than the Watcher - but he suspected the grief and horror he   
would feel would be no less real, and mixed with no less guilt.  
  
"Oh, yes," Angel said enthusiastically. Willow smiled; he was   
bragging about his girlfriend's accomplishments. And to think she   
hadn't thought Angel was capable of 'cute'. "To watch her... she's   
like an elemental force. She seems to glow, all who see her want to   
get close to her... to see her fight, watch her move, is..." his   
voice faded off and he ended almost on a whisper, "I never hoped such   
a creature existed. And that she loves me... I never even dared to   
imagine."  
  
Buffy's eyes filled with tears. Angel, though demonstrative, had   
never been so vocal. Her desire to have him in her life again, any   
way she could, crystallised.   
  
*She'd* never imagined to have someone like Angel as her love, as   
hers; never thought such a smart, mature man, a man who fought harder   
than anyone she'd known, fought himself everyday for the chance to   
*be* himself, who cheered her though her best moments and loved her   
through her worst, even those directed at him - she knew she probably   
didn't deserve it. But she did, as long as she loved him back; and   
if she hadn't that way, then she could. She would.  
  
Giles cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable with the level of   
emotion he felt radiating from Angel, and Buffy in deeply felt   
response.  
  
"Yes, well," he stumbled, trying to regain control of the   
conversation.  
  
"I think now may be the time to take him forward to the... uh, shall   
we say pivotal experience," Wesley advised Giles 'helpfully', leaning   
over his shoulder. Giles cast an irritated glance at the younger   
man, who leaned back with a disgruntled expression. In unwitting   
symmetry, they removed their glasses, found cloths in their pockets,   
and began to clean the lenses in quick, jerky movements.  
  
Willow watched with an affectionate smile on her lips, wondering   
whether she should offer to take over in the face of their obvious   
displacement activity. She had been moved by Angel's declaration of   
love - as she'd once told Buffy, with a taciturn man you had to look   
at their actions, and she couldn't help but feel this openness was a   
trait of David's that Angel would do well to adopt. She didn't doubt   
he had the potential for it. After all, he read poetry.  
  
"Do you remember fighting a Desuin demon?" Giles asked abruptly.  
  
"A..." Angel said, clearly not recognising the name.  
  
"Blue, armoured, skilled in fight-"  
  
"It killed her," Angel interrupted, and when it cracked, his soft   
voice held an anguish Giles prayed he would never know.  
  
"Killed her," he repeated, "and I never... I was a danger to her, but   
I didn't realise... she never said..." Giles watched with dismay and   
sympathy for his palpable difficulties as a tear squeezed out of   
Angel's closed lids and began to track slowly down his cheek.  
  
Buffy hurriedly wiped away her own tears - reacting to his pain as   
much as his words - and climbed onto the couch, lifting him up easily   
to sit behind him, cradling his head on her lap, buffering and   
sheltering his body with her own, smaller frame.  
  
Some part of him recognising her through the certain knowledge of her   
death served to calm Angel, or the spirit that inhabited him always   
and now controlled him; though the tears kept making a smooth trail   
of unbroken damp down his cheeks, his tone became less ragged and his   
words less incoherent.  
  
"It had... a sword, bigger than mine... practically bigger than me...   
I was wounded in the side, and she... she was trying to protect me   
and she..."  
  
His voice ended on a strangled sob. Giles, unwilling to push, for   
all their sakes, considered trying to stop. Buffy stroked Angel's   
hair, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and decided for them.  
  
"I could see her lying there, but I'd missed what... she wasn't   
moving and... it leaned over her and I tried to get it away but I   
wasn't strong enough... even fit, I wasn't strong enough... not to   
save her..."  
  
Giles leaned forward, transfixed, just barely noticing Wesley and   
Willow unconsciously copy his movements. This was nearly what they   
needed; and then they could stop what had to be even more torturous   
for Buffy and Angel to relive than it was for them to hear.  
  
"And its tongue... came out... disgusting tongue, long... seemed to   
go right into her *head*... and then it went away. It just left...   
once it knew it'd killed her... and I crawled over and she was... I   
couldn't... she was just breathing, and then I was holding her... she   
stopped..."  
  
Fully in his catharsis, Angel cried, Buffy's head so close to his   
their tears mingled.  
  
Giles leaned back, his mind half on the heartbreaking scene in front   
of him and half on the implications of what Angel had told them.   
Some magical or illusory elements; some kind of poison, he assumed,   
which the Desuin used an enhanced tongue to deliver, given that the   
victims then showed no effects of that invasion (which he would not   
allow himself to picture).  
  
It was enough. It had to be enough, because he wouldn't put Angel or   
Buffy through that again, even if he thought he could hear it; but   
now, there were other repercussions to be dealt with.  
  
He stood up quietly and beckoned to Wesley and Willow. They walked   
obediently to the door, moods subdued and eyes reddened, waiting for   
him while he rested a hand on Buffy's shoulder. She looked up, and   
Giles spoke the words that would release Angel from David's grip.   
Then he kissed Buffy's cheek gently, a promise of understanding and   
support (for both of them), and the pair were left alone.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Neither of them registered time passing, and it could have been ten   
minutes or ten hours before their tears dried and they detached from   
each other with muttered apologies and mumbles, awkward with the   
knowledge of everything they had been and couldn't be now.  
  
Only when they sat, carefully at opposite ends of the couch, did they   
begin to speak, still raw from the experience.  
  
"Well," Buffy said, quiet. She didn't look at him.  
  
"Well?" he said in disbelief, running a weary hand through his   
hair. "I wasn't banking on anything like... *that*, Buffy. Were   
you?"  
  
"Expecting it?" she questioned gently, almost fearfully; she had,   
mostly. But she hadn't foreseen it would be so involving; leave her   
feeling so close to him. "Yeah. Kind of."  
  
"Those lives," he said, "they were real." He meant it as a question;   
feeling the truth made it a statement.  
  
"We think so," Buffy said, shrugging. "And of course, my life may   
depend on it being accurate, so we hope so."  
  
"*I* hope so," he said. "After all that."  
  
"I don't know," she murmured, staring fixedly at her hands. "Even if   
it wasn't... I remember being happy. Like, really happy. And   
that... kind of new territory for me, so..."  
  
"You're not happy?" he said quietly, feeling a wash of misery; he   
hadn't left her so she could be unhappy. She could have been unhappy   
with him - well, he didn't mean that, exactly, but he knew that   
during the worst times he and Buffy had had, there had been some   
measure of comfort in it being *them*. Together.  
  
She exhaled hard. "I didn't mean it like that." 'Freudian slip.'  
  
"Do you think it was real?" he said, "I thought... I don't know where   
it came from, Buffy. I thought it was."  
  
She looked at him finally: studied the planes of his face, the strong   
cheekbones and jawline, the lips that knew her own so well, the shock   
of dark hair that was standing up more untidily than he'd ever let it   
if he knew. The eyes, swollen from tears (how often had she seen   
Angel cry? Not as often as he'd let her cry on him, anyway) but   
holding the familiar kindliness, protectiveness. Love.  
  
He loved her. And he deserved to know how long he'd done so.  
  
Buffy reached over the side of the couch, scrabbling for her bag.   
While she did so, she talked.  
  
"When this whole thing was starting, Willow and Tara did a spell to   
try and find my lifeline, or karmic record, or something like that,   
and... they used photos of everyone so they could see who I was tied   
to, and they had one of yours in it, and..."  
  
She sat up and handed him the photo of him, fused to the one of her.  
  
He flipped it over curiously, examined it, and though she tried, she   
couldn't read his purposely blank expression as he ran his fingers   
over the join, and then trailed his fingertips softly across her   
face. She felt his phantom touch keenly when he did so.  
  
"She said it means..." Buffy's voice wavered, "Willow said it   
means... soulmates. Us. Are. I mean, we are. That."  
  
He glanced at her, and his eyes were wet again.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, it does."  
  
Gaze locked on his, she slowly slid across the couch. He raised his   
arm to accommodate her, and when she was nestled securely at his   
side, in the curve of his body, he dropped it again to rest on her   
shoulders, hugging her close to him.  
  
Which was when the door banged open and Riley entered.  
  
"Buffy? Willow said you were done and found out what you..."  
  
He faltered in speech and movement, stopping halfway into the room   
and staring at the sight of Buffy and Angel snuggling. Part of him   
wondered what else he'd expected from this thing. A smaller part   
taunted him about it.  
  
"Wanted to know," he finished softly, then nodded, with bitterness   
and not a little self-loathing. "Yeah, I guess you really did."  
  
He looked at the vampire, and he hated him more for the look of   
sorrow and sympathy - warring as they were with dislike - in Angel's   
eyes than he did for Angel's body against Buffy's. Childish as it   
was, he'd almost felt superior to Angel because he was taller; seeing   
them together, it just made him think that the two of them fit better   
than he and Buffy did. Had.  
  
He turned around and walked out, fighting to not break into a run.  
  
When he was outside, and no longer had to try and salvage what   
dignity he could, he did run, letting the wind dry the resented tears   
as they came to his eyes.  
  
"Riley!" Buffy yelled. She turned helplessly between the door he'd   
gone out of to Angel. The latter closed his eyes - in pain? In   
understanding? She wasn't sure - and nodded; tiny, barely   
noticeable, but giving her the permission she felt she needed. She   
gave him a tiny, regretful smile, and ran straight out the door.  
  
Angel wondered abstractly, through the renewed tears, how that felt   
like a bigger rejection than being sent to hell.  
  
* * * * *  



	12. Part 11

"How did it go?"  
  
Willow stared at Tara's reflection. The other witch was standing behind her and gently brushing Willow's red strands into neatness.  
  
"I need my roots doing," she remarked absently. Tara's eyes met her in the mirror and she smiled kindly. Willow sighed.  
  
"There was a lot of pain involved. Angel was crying, even. I mean, not totally him, but still..."  
  
"Not the type to cry?" Tara hazarded. She'd met the vampire only briefly, but she'd seen a lot when they'd performed the lifeline spell - more than she thought Willow had - and though she felt an instinctive touch of fear at the unleashed demon she felt in him, she appreciated the strength it must take to control it, responded to the unconscious protective vibes he emitted.  
  
She thought he'd probably had a little sister, once.  
  
"Not at all," Willow agreed. "He seems too... big, or something."  
  
"Not a big emoter," Tara said.  
  
"No," Willow replied. "He doesn't let people in. That was probably the most vulnerable he's been in years."  
  
Tara put the brush down and sat next to Willow on the bed.  
  
"Even with Buffy?"  
  
"Even with Buffy," Willow said. "She always made the distinction between Angel and Angelus - most of us did - but I think there were parts of Angel we never knew either. When all this started, I thought it'd be a good thing, but..."  
  
She trailed off, shrugging her shoulders helplessly.  
  
"There's a lot of pain in their history," Tara said, "and some to come yet."  
  
"How do you know?" Willow said, surprised, leaning her head on Tara's shoulder. She knew her lover was empathic, but she'd never suspected any kind of clairvoyant abilities.  
  
"Don't you?" Tara said, surprised herself. "It can't end painlessly. Not for everyone."  
  
"Oh," Willow said. "No. No, I guess not." She stared at the wall, at the picture of she and Tara that hung there. "Everything's changing."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Riley," Buffy said, leaning on the doorframe of his bedroom. The door was open. All the doors were open, which was how she'd got in; one of Riley's first priorities upon getting the apartment had been to get her a key, but she'd forgotten it that morning.  
  
"Buffy." His tone was cordial, polite. Foreign.  
  
She stepped into the room without being asked - she wondered why she felt she had to be asked, after all the times he'd welcomed her eagerly - and watched what he was doing with dismay, regret, and no surprise.  
  
"Aren't you going to even try and work this out?" she asked, trying and failing to put some life into her tone.  
  
"Do you even want to?" he countered calmly.  
  
Buffy thought about it. About picnics in the sunlight versus kisses in a moonlit cemetery; about hours of good, fun sex versus one night of tender lovemaking; about warm, safe, reliable human arms versus a fleeting, cool touch on her cheek while she slept.  
  
She thought about it all - thought about them - and didn't answer. Riley was going on regardless.  
  
"I don't think you do. I don't think you know what you want, but... I saw you with him. Something happened, didn't it? With the shared lives?"  
  
Buffy fought down a protective instinct about her 'new' old lives, and simply nodded. To all of his points, though she knew that wouldn't be apparent; she wasn't sure what she wanted. Angel wasn't offering her anything; just a heart and a connection re-broken when he left her again to go to a home that she no longer signified. On the other hand, Riley was only just now withdrawing the offer of - everything, she supposed, and if she said the right words he wouldn't go, wouldn't remove that... that safety net, she admitted to herself.  
  
Riley was her safety net, giving her all the things she wanted from Angel but would accept from someone else. And that wasn't fair to Riley, or to herself.  
  
Riley nodded after her, his gesture half firm and half broken.  
  
"I can't fight that much history. Not without even being important in your life now."  
  
"How can you say -" Buffy said, having made her decision but too shocked he thought that to either comment or take issue with his telling her what *she* thought.  
  
"I'm not, not really," he said, cutting her own. "You don't need me. You don't -" his voice hitched, and he cursed himself for it, going on quietly, "you don't love me."  
  
She was silent, and it was all the answer he needed. Riley turned away from her, resuming packing his suitcase with military neatness.  
  
"You're going to live in what you can fit in one suitcase?" she asked, knowing she hadn't given him much - certainly not what he'd wanted, herself - and trying to at least make the appearance now. She would be sorry to lose him.  
  
But if you don't love something, set it free; and she'd recover from *this* leave-taking.  
  
"No," he answered. "I'm going to live in what I can fit in one suitcase, and in my uniform."  
  
"You're going back to the army?" she exclaimed, honestly distressed. "After everything..."  
  
"The army, Buffy," he cut her off. "Not the Initiative. The regular army scouted me this summer. Told me they could still use me, and if I changed my mind, to come back."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, getting a little mad. Mad was good. Some righteous anger helped detract from the still-present guilt; that she should have known, should have asked, shouldn't have snuggled with Angel while she was still with Riley...  
  
"I didn't think I'd be taking them up on their offer," he said simply, and she wished there was accusation in his voice.  
  
She moved closer, fidgeting with a shirt she had distractedly taken from his pile.  
  
"I already wrecked your military career once," she said. He turned to look at her and she looked into his eyes, hoping he would pick up on the honest sorrow in hers. "I won't stand in your way. If... if that's what you want."  
  
He took the shirt away from her, fitting it into his case and zipping it shut firmly. He conjured a weak, bitter smile, glad at least they hadn't brought the vampire into this; it let him pretend that their relationship hadn't always, in some part, been about him and his - residue in Buffy. It let him pretend he had a little dignity, that he'd maybe been in charge of the ending of the relationship the way he hadn't been for the rest of it.  
  
He lifted his case and walked to the door, pausing only to turn around and tell Buffy, "It's not."  
  
He'd wanted a big wedding with all their assorted family present. He'd wanted a house in the suburbs and a big car and 2.4 children. He'd wanted to look after her, and have her look after him.  
  
He'd wanted her to *fight* for him, for them.  
  
And she hadn't.  
  
So he walked on.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Buffy?" Angel was hesitant, a little subdued; for all he knew, Buffy was taking the call in the middle of conciliatory sexcapades.  
  
"Angel," she said, and his vampiric hearing picked up a slight, muted sniffle, even over the phone.  
  
"You're crying," he said.  
  
"No," she denied immediately. "Well. Maybe a little."  
  
Things hadn't gone well with the boy, then. Angel felt a tiny burst of joy, of smug, proprietary satisfaction; and then chastised himself for it in the moment before the familiar self-loathing surfaced at the unfair reaction. Angel didn't like the ex-soldier - had he been given reason to feel differently? a small voice said in his head. Yes, he had, he answered himself.  
  
Buffy was with Riley. She'd claimed to love him. He obviously adored her. She had a chance of happiness with him, of everything Angel couldn't offer her (yet, remarked the voice). Their argument, split (he firmly quashed that resurgence of joy), whatever, was hurting her.  
  
For all he'd often made Buffy cry, he hated to see her do it.  
  
"Are you still at Giles' place?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah," he said.  
  
"Alone?" she said.  
  
"Uh... yeah," he said, taken by surprise.  
  
"I just have something to do... I'll be there in half an hour."  
  
"Right," Angel said to the dial tone.  
  
Half an hour seemed to drag on for a long time (especially for someone who was immortal).  
  
* * * * *  
  
Giles walked slowly into the magic shop and went straight over to his private bookshelf. On the way over, he'd had a notion about a possible connection between the Desuin and the Faadal, a serpentine demon variant which also killed its prey with some sort of... tongue-like... appendage. He suppressed an instinctive shudder at the thought of the pain what Angel had described must cause, and unsure as he was about the new tensions that came from Angel's presence, he was glad they'd had to bring him into it because of Buffy's lack of memory of the event. His Slayer had often been unusually squeamish, for a Slayer, and recalling in detail such a gruesome death - particularly visited on a woman who was to all intents and purposes *her* and intended again for Buffy herself - would serve only to harm her mental, and possibly physical, health.  
  
"You're back," Anya said in an unfriendly tone entirely at odds with the sunny smile she bestowed on a departing customer, "finally."  
  
"This is rather important, Anya," Giles said, not bothering to look at his difficult employee. She was an excellent shopkeeper - keeping his profits high(er) and costs low(er) than they might have otherwise been (he admitted he'd jumped into the business rather rapidly, with considerably less caution than such a decision would usually warrant) - but still working on excellence as a person.  
  
Unless, of course, it was to someone giving her money. Or Xander.  
  
"How important?" another equally demanding voice enquired. "Did it work? Is Angel okay? Still... y'know... Angel?"  
  
"Cordelia," Giles said, barely looking away from the shelf as he pulled a book off and perused it, meaning to dismiss the girl until he had more time to chat.  
  
Until he glanced up and registered the concern in her eyes for her friend. Older eyes, he thought; surrounded by as beautiful and youthful a face as ever, but showing a deeper understanding and empathy than he'd noticed there before. He thought of the brief picture Wesley had sketched out for him of their operations in LA, and his short description of the painful visions that drove it.  
  
Giles had known seers before, of both the drug-addled, demon-enhanced visions he and his friends had produced twenty years ago and the legitimate, Power-driven flashes Cordelia experienced. They were difficult for the seer, who felt as much as saw the obscure images, and it was to this he attributed Cordelia's newfound attitude. God knew the girl had never lacked confidence; but that which the woman now possessed came from a surety of purpose, the vocation of protecting people from a threat they couldn't imagine. And, naturally, from the entirely common prospect of being set adrift to survive in an adult city, an adult world; one Xander and Willow and even Buffy, for all of their maturity, had not yet experienced.   
  
Not so different from the situation he had once been in himself, and so Giles closed his book and led Cordelia into the back room.  
  
"Angel is... alright," Giles said, choosing his words carefully so as not to alarm her while still conveying that Angel, who had after all been crying in Buffy's arms last time he'd seen him, was not exactly fine.  
  
"What do you mean, he's alright?" Cordelia said impatiently. "He's physically alright but in an unbreakable hypnotic trance, it didn't work so he's completely alright, or he's remembered something horrible and is currently brooding his depressed ass off?"  
  
Giles suppressed a smile. It was comforting to know that *some* things - particularly her tendency to blunt tactlessness - had survived her change.  
  
"More of the latter, I'm afraid," he said, sighing. It had occurred to him that the hypnosis might be distressing to Angel, but he had gone ahead... not regardless, precisely. Simply, on balance, he had decided that the risk was worth it. It *hadn't* occurred to him that Angel's emotions might still affect Buffy's so strongly.  
  
"What did he remember?" she said anxiously. "Did he get what you needed so we can go home?"  
  
"He did, actually," Giles said, rather affronted. "Angel's alter-ego, David, recalled the circumstances of Sarah's death intimately, which is what proved difficult for Angel. And Buffy."  
  
"Buffy," Cordelia muttered under her breath.  
  
"It might be nice if you co-operated with us all, Cordelia," Giles said stiffly, beginning to feel annoyed about her apparent ability to grasp the import of the situation. "Your eagerness to leave and unwillingness to have come, besides being rather unflattering, won't help Angel at all-"  
  
"How do you know?" she snapped, standing up and beginning to pace the floor with dramatic restlessness. "You don't even like Angel."  
  
"Cordelia!" Giles began, then pondered his answer. He didn't like Angelus, naturally. And the two of them were intertwined, and crucially, shared the same face. Buffy may have been able to kiss the lips that had drunk of human blood; he had found it almost impossible to shake the hand that had snapped Jenny's neck. Even now, it could be hard, if he didn't remind himself this was *Angel*, and therefore not responsible. No-one had answered for Jenny's death and occasionally - when he was loneliest - Angel was the only candidate who could, simply by virtue of the body-sharing, of the taints the human personality left in the vampire.  
  
And yet... before Angel'd turned, he'd liked the other man (thought of him as another man). He had always appreciated how much Angel loved Buffy, as the Slayer's Watcher and as Buffy's surrogate father. He had been impressed when Angel left her, and he had been saddened; not only for her loss, but for his loss as well - Angel, in his way, had been as expert as Giles himself and certainly the one to come closest to his age, metaphorically. Giles respected his skill as a Warrior, his devotion to duty... and if the personality was flawed, most peoples' were and he appreciated Angel's efforts in trying to redeem himself.  
  
"That is not true," he said simply to Cordelia, without explanation or embellishment. She obviously heard and understood the note of sincerity in his tone, because she gave him a piercing look and then, slowly, resumed her seat.  
  
"You don't have to see how he gets when he's seen her," she said, almost despairingly. "He's doing... we're doing pretty well. And then its like he *regresses* or something. Gets Buffy Face and mopes around and he's killing things either maniacally or mechanically and either way..." her gaze met his, and Giles was sorry to see her expression was miserable, "I'm worried it'll get him *killed*."  
  
"Perhaps-" Giles tried to cut in, but she was in full, ranting flow, and she ignored his interruption.  
  
"And the time it lasts is practically proportional to the time he's seen her for on some ridiculous scale like a day of brooding for every hour of her 'glorious' presence..."  
  
"Slight jealousy?" Giles hazarded, sure she wouldn't even hear him. Unfortunately, she did, and reacted, eyes flashing as she glared.  
  
"*Excuse* me? Jealous of *her*?"  
  
"Not *her* exactly," Giles stumbled to qualify, "just her place in Angel's heart. In his life."  
  
"Eeuw," Cordelia exclaimed with all the eloquence of the days of research he remembered. "That is so not... he's like my *brother* or something!"  
  
"Yes, quite so," Giles agreed - demon fighting did seem to promote familial bonds somewhat - "but you are used to being the most important, if not the only, female in his life and it might seem that Buffy's... usurping that place... could conceivably upset you."  
  
To his surprise, once past her initial reaction, she listened to him, appeared to consider his theory.  
  
"Maybe it's a little that," she conceded grudgingly. "But mostly... I don't *like* to see him like that. And not only because it dampens my day. Because it makes me *hurt* for him, you know?"  
  
Giles nodded, but again, she was continuing without waiting for his reactions.  
  
"You know after the whole Faith thing?" Here she glanced at Giles, who nodded again to affirm that he knew about the 'whole Faith thing'. Few details, to be sure; Angel had called, he had passed on the information they had on Faith, Buffy had gone to LA and returned with only the short, terse, notice that Faith was in jail and Angel had been pivotal in getting her there. He suspected something had transpired between Buffy and Angel, and that it had been negative, but had no real knowledge.  
  
"Well, he did a good thing with Faith. Not just the getting her locked away part, because I do still kind of think she's dangerous and dare I say semi-psychotic, but with getting her to get *herself* locked away... anyway, he gets this major victory... and all he does for the next week is mope around and brood and read old books and be practically silent, all because Buffy marched in wearing her holier-than-thou bitch boots." Cordelia looked almost distraught at the memory.  
  
Giles winced, remembering his own experience with - those, late last year. He'd felt quite like moping around and reading old books himself, in actual fact.  
  
"And so," Cordelia concluded, regaining some of the fire she had lost to emotion in her last speech, "I don't see how this is going to work out great for anyone."  
  
Giles thought again of Angel and Buffy, sobbing together on his couch; of Riley, who had been conspicuously absent during the LA group's arrival; of Cordelia and Wesley, following Angel to a place where they thought he would get hurt simply so they could pick him up, take him back home, and help him recover; of a Desuin demon he didn't know how to stop, perhaps this moment tracking the Slayer it was hungry for.  
  
"Yes," he replied softly. "I understand that very much."  
  
He pressed Cordelia's hand gently where it lay limp on the table; when he then replaced it with the book he held, open to the significant chapter, she dutifully began reading the pages while Giles went to get another.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy stared at the door for a moment, and then knocked gingerly before pushing it open.  
  
"Angel?" she called, looking around; the interior was dim and she flicked the light on.  
  
"Yeah," he said, getting up from the couch where he'd lapsed into automatic brood since her call. He scrutinised her unobtrusively in the muted light; she looked poised and together, no obvious signs of her tears. She'd changed into red leather pants and a tighter t-shirt, presumably for patrol purposes later rather than for his benefit, but he'd always (especially) appreciated her in smooth leather. His senses, always particularly sharp in Slayer presence, screamed to be nearer, to feel the leather and then her skin against his and... but it wasn't that dim, and if he kept on with *that* unattainable train of thought - well, anyway. He thought of Riley, and though the demon snarled in possessive anger within him, he calmed.  
  
"Did you and Riley..." Angel said, unsure of his right to probe, leaving the question hanging.  
  
"He's gone," she said simply, dropping her bag by the door and walking over to join him by the couch.  
  
"Gone as in..."  
  
"As in 'I'll forward your mail'," Buffy said matter-of-factly.  
  
"Oh," Angel said, unbalanced by her straight-forwardness when he'd been prepared to tread gently around the subject. "And we're feeling...?"  
  
"Will you say a complete sentence?" she said in exasperation. "And I don't know how 'we're' feeling because I wasn't aware there was a 'we' to be feeling anything. *I'm* feeling pretty crappy about having led on a decent guy for the past year and you're feeling... I don't know how you're feeling."  
  
"Sorry," he said softly, turning his body more towards hers. "He seemed to be... a good guy to you."  
  
"He was," she said. "I just wasn't such a good girl to him."  
  
"Don't blame yourself -" Angel began, but she waved a hand, cutting him off.  
  
"Who else? I wasn't in it the way he was, and I should have realised that a long time ago. In fact, I shouldn't have started it when I was..."  
  
"When you were what?"  
  
"When I wasn't over you," she said, looking up into his dark eyes. "I think I figured..." she looked down, fidgeting, hoping she wasn't going to lay all her cards - screw metaphors - lay her heart down for him to trample on. Of course, Angel being Angel he'd do it gently, even lovingly... remind her again how it was for her own good and fill the air with unspoken thoughts of his unworthiness... but those were still big, trample-ready feet he had. Still a big grip on her heart. "I stopped thinking about you because I never really thought I'd get over you," she said, "so I gave Riley what I could... and it wasn't enough."  
  
"I'm sorry," he said. "I never should have -"  
  
"Don't," she said. "Whatever you're going to say, you should have. A lot of people don't ever get to love like that and... I'm grateful I have. Do."  
  
She felt his arm creep around her shoulders and leant into him, pillowing her head on his chest, which was harder muscled than she remembered. For a moment she yearned to sit up, slowly unbutton his shirt and test the change with her eyes and hands and mouth... but it was Angel, and the biggest unfairness in her life - which even in her non-self-pitying moments she knew was filled with unfairness - was that while there was one thing she could give only with him, her love, she couldn't give him the expression of it that was possible with anyone else.  
  
"I'm grateful I do as well," he murmured, very close to her ear, then tested the lobe gently with blunt teeth.  
  
"And - have, as well," she went on, with some awkwardness, "I mean, with all this past life stuff..."  
  
He didn't make any reply, concentrating instead on nibbling tiny areas of her neck, sending delightful sensations rocketing up and down her body from the slight touches of his lips and teeth - and the low growl he sounded when he encountered the slightly raised scar, his mark at the base of her neck.  
  
"It's made me think about," she breathed in sharply as he licked the scar, one hand tangling in her hair to gently urge her head to the side, allowing him better access, "destiny..."  
  
"So?" he said, his other hand tracing small, cool circles on the skin of her taut belly.  
  
"And about you leaving," she said, whining instinctively when he immediately detached from her, sitting straight up. His grip on her loosened as he tried to judge her mood.  
  
"And?" he said cautiously. He was completely ready to defend his decision to leave for it having done good for both of them... but particularly for what it had given him. A purpose of his own. Friends - a family - he loved and trusted a way he had only her, before. Respect, and the responsibility of a city and people, people's *souls*. Something he could be proud of... besides her.  
  
A vintage car and a very expensive - but very effective - long duster.  
  
And so he was prepared to defend that choice, but he would prefer not to have to; he'd hoped Buffy would have realised he'd made it in good faith, and the opportunities it had afforded him. If her opportunities hadn't quite worked out... it did upset him, as anything that upset her did, but it wasn't his fault. He considered it quite an achievement for his self-esteem that he saw that.  
  
"And I'm sorry I resented it for so long," she said, burrowing into him slightly more strongly, hoping to induce him to tighten his arms again, which he did. "You're not my shadow. You shouldn't be *in* my shadow. You're doing... so much... and I should have seen that you needed that."  
  
"I'm glad you approve," he said jokingly, contented and a little amazed at her maturity. He bent to kiss her properly, partly in thanks and partly because sitting here with her in his arms and not tasting the skin and heartbeat and *life* he could sense beneath him was driving him crazy.  
  
"Like the Faith thing," she said tentatively, and he went rigid again. She quickly laid a reassuring hand on his thigh, knowing that he was remembering his fist against her face as vividly as she was; she felt no rancour - now - but she figured it was probably something he guilt-tripped over.  
  
"I was wrong," she said. "I was wrong to judge you instead of support you, I was wrong to say what I did to you, I was wrong not to stick around to apologise... and when *you* came to *me* to apologise, I was wrong not to say it then."  
  
"You did -" he started.  
  
As she'd thought. Guilt.  
  
"I didn't," she said firmly. "I hummed and hawed and said maybe you hadn't been entirely wrong... when you'd been right. I'm sorry."  
  
"Thank you," he said gravely.  
  
"And... I admire you for it," she said. "I'm so proud of you, Angel. You've come really far."  
  
Unseen by her, he grinned. Buffy was his reason for fighting, had always been; he'd found other reasons - the people he helped, the people he could help, the simple fact that it was the right thing to do - but still, Buffy remained at the core. The Slayer. Giving her life to the fight because someone had to. He was long past needing her validation in what he did, but he delighted in her backing.  
  
"I could never go so far that I'd be out of your reach," he vowed softly.  
  
Buffy smiled and curved her arm up and around his neck; their gazes met.  
  
"I love you too," she said. "I know it can't... go anywhere... now."  
  
He thought briefly about his shanshu, but before he could properly contemplate telling her (now she'd made her feelings about moving on from him clear) she was carrying on.  
  
"But Willow's spell showed me... this is only one of a lot of times we've been together." Her fingertips softly stroked the hair on the nape of his neck. "We're meant for each other. So, I can wait."  
  
He smiled back down at her and leaned down to *finally* capture her lips in a kiss.  
  
Just before their mouths met, he heard her whisper mischievously, "It can't exactly get any worse..."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Are you sure you have to go *right now*?" Angel said, nuzzling Buffy's neck. "About quarter of an hour, the sun will have gone down, I'll come with you."  
  
She laughed and pushed the length of his body off hers. Only vampiric grace and reflexes stopped him crashing straight to the floor. She offered him a hand, pulling him up and back into her arms.  
  
"You hunt enough in LA," she said mock sternly. "This is my patch."  
  
"I don't mind," he said, sliding his hands down to the small of her back and pulling her against him even tighter.  
  
"I know you don't," she said, laying her head on his chest. "But there's no need, really. Routine sweep."  
  
"Unless you happen to run into the Desuin," he said, all joking gone. He felt her stiffen infinitesimally against him.  
  
"And then running will indeed be the word," she said dryly, and started to back them towards the door.  
  
Once there, she pulled away from him, keeping hold of his hand. She opened the door, and then suddenly turned back into Angel's embrace, kissing him hard. Surprised but not unwilling, he wrapped his arms around her again and responded.  
  
Buffy pulled back, resting her forehead against his. "I love you," she whispered.  
  
"I love you," he said, and then she was out of his arms and the door.  
  
He stared after her for a moment, and then spared a thought for when Giles and the rest of the gang would be back. Walking over to the phone, intending to call Cordelia and find out where she was before the sun went down and he could follow Buffy out on patrol, he caught sight of Buffy's bag, still where she had dropped it when she came in.  
  
He picked it up, and two letters fell out.  
  
Puzzled, he turned them over. They were addressed simply to 'Mom' and 'Willow'.  
  
Frowning, instinctive dread and fear for his impulsive mate growing in his centre, he reached into her bag, pulling out several more letters. He found the one bearing his name and ripped the envelope open hurriedly, almost tearing the letter inside in his haste.  
  
It was written on plain white notepaper in her usual loopy scrawl. He unfolded it.  
  
'Dear Angel (he read)  
  
Hopefully this won't be necessary, not only because the Desuin won't actually make its quota, but because we'll have had the conversation I'd like to have and you'll already know that I love you, and never stopped loving you.'  
  
He only got that far before the fear running through dead veins exploded into terror.  
  
The letter dropped heedlessly onto the carpet.  
  
"Oh God, Buffy..." he breathed.  
  
* * * * *  



End file.
